Blood and Flour
by juniper294
Summary: It was a long day for the team. But when a simple stop at the store doesn't go as planned, it became an even longer night.
1. Chapter 1

**Once again, please let me know if any of the characters are OOC. I love constructive criticism as well. **

"Anyone else have something to add?" Sarge added at the end of the debrief, making Ed smile at the groans elicited from his fellow teammates. He even added one of his own, wanting to head home to his wife and son. Nobody had anything to add. "Then get out of here," Sarge waved his hand, a weary smile on his face as he dismissed them.

Usually as team leader, Constable Ed Lane waited for the rest of his team to disperse before he got up. Today, he was just as anxious as the rest of them. It had been a long shift. Something about rogue snipers really took it out of him. He stood up and followed the guys into the locker room, giving Sarge a pat on the shoulder as he headed out.

"So we were sitting there for the better part of _two_ hours before-" Spike was already mid-story by the time Ed entered the room. Ed tuned him out somewhere between the bad service and the cold food of his latest restaurant endeavor. The tale was over before he realized his brain had unintentionally stopped listening.

Ed had packed up his gear, changed into civilian clothes and exited the room before he even recognized he had. It was like walking through a haze. All he could think about was getting home, because the alternative was thinking about the night's cases. He wanted to let those thoughts rest until at least tomorrow.

The hall was quiet for a moment. The Boss was still in the briefing room. The rest of the team had not finished changing. The hall was silent except for the steady beat his shoes rapped out against the ground until another pair joined his own at a much faster pace. Sam's voice made Ed stop.

"Hey, wait!"

He wanted to groan with impatience. He was so close to going home. Still, Ed turned around and faced Sam, who appeared rumpled from his rush to get dressed and catch up with him.

"I know it's late, but could you spare me a ride home?" Sam all but pleaded.

Ed would have laughed if he wasn't so tired. This coming from the guy who sold his car thinking he didn't need it anymore. Still, he couldn't say no. Sam's place was hardly out of the way. It would add only minutes to his trip. They all hadn't had the easiest day, Sam included. Maybe Sam especially. It was always hard to lose a subject after you connect to them.

"You ready to get out of here?" Ed asked dubiously looking at the unzipped duffle flung over Sam's shoulder.

"Yes, sir."

"Let's go," Ed said as a way of showing Sam that he didn't mind giving him a lift. The smile it brought to his face was worth the few minutes. Sam was still like a kid in some ways like that. Then again, Ed didn't envy the guy for having to make it home on his own steam. He might smile like that from the reprieve too.

They made their way to Ed's parked car. Sam threw his duffle in the back seat and Ed waited a moment for his friend to get settled. "I have to stop at the store for a sec, you mind?" he asked as he turned to back out of his spot.

"Nah, that's fine."

"Good, 'cause we're stopping anyways," Ed said. The serious tone belied the intentions of the words being a joke. They came out weaker than he intended. He was tired and putting any emotion in his voice required effort. He could tell Sam felt the same way, or at least he assumed from the noncommittal nod he got for a response.

Normally he would put off the store until tomorrow, but Sophie had texted him earlier in the day for him to pick up a few items on his way home.

It was nearing eleven o'clock, when the superstore near them closed. He hadn't expected to be in this much of a rush to get there. He hadn't expected for a lot of today's events. It came with the job. And dealing with his job was one of the many things Ed loved about his wife. Most of the time she could brush off a late night or early morning, but he could feel her annoyance sometimes. He needed to remind her that he was there for her, for both of them, particularly after a day like this. They were probably all over the news. Letting his wife know he could still help out sometimes was worth the time and effort it took for a few items from the store.

The two rode in silence. And while that might have been awkward in any other situation, it was a companionable silence. When they reached the store, Ed had to focus more than usual as he pulled into a parking spot. "You can stay in the car if you want," Ed offered.

"I'd probably fall asleep," Sam got out. "What d' you need?"

"Sophie wanted me to pick up some detergent and flour."

"Sounds like an interesting meal."

Ed threw Sam a look as they walked in through the automatic doors. "Divide and Conquer? You take detergent, I'll take flour?"

Sam nodded. "Does that make me Sierra One?" He called out at Ed's turned back. He didn't have to hide his smile as he turned down the aisle of baking necessities. Powdered sugar, brown sugar, salt. He moved to about halfway down before he came to the flour.

Self-rising flour, organic flour, instant flour, gluten flour. Ed spent a moment contemplating his options. Sophie hadn't specified the type. He hadn't baked in god knows how long. They all looked the same to him, packaged neatly in bags placed side by side. It was too late for this.

Taking a guess and grabbing the all-purpose, because that made the most sense, Ed examined the back for any evidence that this was the wrong target. It looked innocent enough. Sophie couldn't get too mad if she didn't specify anyway. He didn't spend a moment thinking of the sizes, which one she needed. The five pound bag looked good enough.

Mission accomplished. Maybe sometime he'd have Sophie emphasize the different types, or he'd just let her continue to do the shopping. The latter seemed like a good option. It's not like he'd have her pick out the best tactical solution to a bomb threat.

Ed wondered how Sam was faring with the detergent. He almost shuddered at the multitude of brands, types, and scents. He wondered if there was an all-purpose detergent as well.

He made his way back to the front of the store to meet up Sam, knowing he wouldn't spend too long debating garden lilac versus sunset breeze. He moved to the magazines in front of the checkout, giving a nod to the cashier before turning to face the aisles. This turned out to be a mistake.

Maybe it was because of the stressful day of making decisions and running up and down flights of stairs. Maybe it was the fact he was no longer in his uniform and left the job at work. Maybe it was simply because the guys were sneaky, but Ed decided against the last thought after further inspection.

He heard someone enter the store through the jingling of the bell. He heard footsteps, but this didn't concern him. Ed had just gone in minutes before in a similar fashion. It was not even worth turning around, or so he thought.

He was corrected by the distinctive sound of a gun cocking.

If there was one benefit of being in the SRU, it was that Ed did not panic at this sound. He didn't scream like the young cashier behind him or fall to the ground like the elderly man walking up the beverage aisle. He simply switched back into work mode.

"Everybody on the ground!" A voice called out, probably a teenager if the crack had any indication. "On the ground!"

Ed raised his hands in the air slowly, still holding the bag of flour. "I'm going to turn around now," he announced, moving slowly before the gunman could respond. When he sunk to his knees, he came face to face with four subjects, all clad in black ski masks.

He knew they weren't professional immediately from the nervous stance of one of the members and the awkward way one of them held the gun. Three of the subjects were clearly armed. The nervous one didn't have a weapon in sight. The one who had spoken initially held a single action revolver in his direction, another had his gun facing down towards the cashier, who was shaking already.

"Over there," the one pointing the gun at him gestured at him. He motioned for Ed to get closer to the man sprawled on the floor, who had gingerly moved his old limbs into a semi-upright position. The leader told the same to the cashier. "You," he pointed to one of his partners, "go check out the rest of the store."

That subject moved immediately to the first aisle and ran down it like he was straight out of a _Mission Impossible_ movie. If he didn't have a gun pointed straight at him, he would have rolled his eyes.

"Eyes over here!" the leader shouted at him. Ed looked to him calmly.

"My name's Ed Lane," he began.

"Shut up, move over there." The leader was still speaking with highly agitated words. The other two hung back behind him, almost nervous to stand too close.

"Okay, I'm standing up to walk over there."

The gunman nodded, gesturing again with his gun. Ironically, Ed hoped he could handle the thing. He didn't want it accidentally going off. He got down to his knees slowly next to the old man. When the leader turned to move the cashier in their direction, he helped him up.  
"How are you doing?" Ed asked quietly. The man did a combination of shaking and nodding his head that Ed could only assume meant he was okay for now. He didn't have time to say anything else when the leader faced them again.

"Okay," the leader reassured himself. "Okay," This time he spoke louder. "Where do you keep the money?"

If he hadn't thought they were amateurs before, Ed certainly did now. The cashier would have little ability to reach any of the money apart from what was in her drawer. He knew this before she shook her head and got closer to the floor in submission. The manager of the store, wherever he or she was, would know, not an entry level position worker.

This manager was probably somewhere else in the store, maybe the back. Then again, so were any other customers, including Sam. Ed wished there was a way to make contact to his teammate, or at least hoped he would stay in the back until he realized something was going on. Sam was aware of his surroundings though, if anything the military taught him that. Ed hoped Sam was alert enough to recognize the threat.

"Where do you keep the money?" the leader shouted once again when the cashier didn't respond at first.

The girl, probably only 16, didn't look like she was about to answer. Ed stepped in for her.

"She's just a cashier. She doesn't have access to anything beyond the drawer."

Despite the calm tone in his voice, the gunman turned on him suddenly and Ed found himself closer to the business end of the revolver than he would have liked. He suspected that he could get access to the weapon fairly easily, but there were other hostages and subjects to deal with. It was too risky.

The gunman paused. "How would you know that?"

"It's to protect the store, so employees don't steal from them," Ed said slowly.

There was a crashing sound from the aisle over, further back in the store. The gun went flying in that direction, and Ed really wished he would stop throwing that thing around. At least the other armed guy kept his weapon to the ground, flicking his head in the same direction.

"Jon? You a'ight?" the one with his gun down called.

They were using first names apparently. Aside from the masks, little they did suggested the group knew what they were doing.

There were several choice words from the subject he assumed was named Jon. Emerging from two aisles over was an overweight man, hands in the air, wearing a half tucked in collared button-up and sporting a terrified expression on his face. Behind him was Jon, gun pointed to the man. "He called 911," Jon said, holding a cellphone in his free hand.

"Dammit," the only unarmed subject said, turning around and looking like he was about to puke. "Let's get out of here," he sounded worse than the manager looked.

Ed looked at this subject carefully. He was definitely the smallest of the group, standing maybe 5'6'' or so, no taller. He also seemed the most skittish. He didn't have much influence on the group, nobody responded to his suggestion.

The news of 911 was a relief to Ed. They just had to hold out a few more minutes before the SRU could take over negotiations. In the back of his mind, Ed hoped Sam would stay hidden wherever he was until this whole thing was over. Somehow, he doubted his stubborn friend would do so. He wondered if Sam was even aware of the situation yet. From the nervous stance of each member, things were probably going to escalate soon.

"You haven't hurt anybody yet. That's good. When the police get here, we can talk to them, figure something out," Ed tried to reason with the subjects.

The leader swung his gun at Ed, hitting him in the jaw with more force than he would have thought possible. His vision blurred momentarily and he fell sideways with the hit.

"I said for you to shut up," the leader snarled.

"Take their cellphones," Jon said after the manager got down next to the cashier. "And their wallets."

Ed took a breath to clear his vision, feeling like the old man trying to sit up. He could feel his pulse in the burning sensation on his jaw. It wasn't broken. Ed could tell by feeling it, but the kid was stronger than his wiry frame suggested.

The cashier handed her cellphone over to one of the armed subjects, the unnamed one- not the leader who still had his gun trained on Ed. The old man only had a wallet to hand over. He didn't own a "portable phone." Ed managed to take his hand away from his swelling jaw to pull out his phone and wallet. From the way the gunman patted down the old man and the cashier, he wouldn't be able to conceal either.

"Okay," the leader muttered again. He took a step back and examined the loot the other subject had collected. "There anyone else in the store?" He looked to Jon.

"I didn't see anybody."

That wasn't a confirmation, and Ed knew for a fact that there was someone else in the store. Where, he wasn't sure. He figured by now Sam must have heard something. Maybe found an exit by now, but he figured Sam wouldn't have left him, even though he knew he should.

"D' you come with anyone else?" the leader looked at the old man, then to Ed. He didn't want to lie to the subject, that was one of the rules of negotiation. He knew that right now Sam had a tactical advantage, though, and he wasn't about to give that away. Both men shook their heads.

"That true?" the gunman looked to the cashier. The girl, with girl brown hair and tears in her eyes, started crying harder, sinking further to the ground. Ed wanted to do something to calm her down. She wasn't helping matters in any way. His jaw still ached from the last time he spoke, and clearly the subject did not want him talking. He wanted her calm, but he didn't want to escalate the situation further.

The hope that things would calm down was immediately squashed when sirens were heard from outside. The skittish one, the one who wasn't armed, outwardly jumped. The others turned their head and Jon let out a curse. Ed wanted to know why the police hadn't approached quietly. Clearly the SRU was not yet involved. This should be a stealth approach. Unknown hostages, unknown number of subjects. The noise was risky.

The leader turned to the cashier once again after only a second's distraction from the sirens. He moved his gun directly to her for the first time. "Did you see anyone else enter the store?"

Ed knew before she said anything that Sam didn't have a hope of remaining unknown. For a moment, Ed felt angry at the girl, knowing she was going to crack. He took a deep breath though and thought of his own son. Ed would want Clark listening to all demands if he were in the same situation.

The girl, whose nametag read Erin, took a few shuttering breaths, trying to speak. The gunman was impatient. "Did you?" He was close to shouting.

"Another guy came in with him," she cried, ducking her head down again. Ed wanted to express his frustration at the situation, but he remained calm. The leader turned back to Ed and he was starting to get put up with the gun being so close to him.

"You said you didn't come in with anybody." Now the leader's voice was much calmer, but this didn't build Ed's confidence. Before he could respond, the gunman continued. "Where is he?"

Ed told the truth. "I don't know."

This time Ed managed to duck the gun swung toward him. This only made the leader angrier and he kicked him in the side. "Tell the truth, or I'll shoot."

"I don't know where he went. He was supposed to meet me at the front of the store."

This made the leader angry. Ed wasn't sure what to expect from him next. So far, he had shown a reluctance to use his weapon for anything beyond a pointer, but he wasn't ruling him using it out yet.

"He looked like he was waiting for someone when we came in," the small one said. "He might not know."

"Shut up, Garret," the leader said, not turning around. Garret's words, however, must have had an effect because he didn't shoot Ed. He took a few steps back and looked to the cashier, Erin. "You have an intercom in here?" He asked.

The manager replied for her. "It's the phone next to the register."

The leader moved to the phone, giving the hostages the most space since this whole thing started. Ed still wasn't left with many options. He hadn't realized how long the response time of the SRU was until he was on the other side of things. Then again, between his jaw, his side, and the way things were going right now, time might be on another dimension at this point.

The leader grabbed the phone and the intercom buzzed to life, static cracking over the speakers. "What's your name?" he asked Ed, holding the phone against him so his voice would not carry.

"My name is Ed Lane," Ed began his speech once again, but the subject wouldn't let him talk. This time Jon took a step forward, gun in his direction.

The leader brought the phone to his ear. "If you want your buddy, Ed, here to be alive in the next minute, you'd better come out wherever you are," he said. Rather than his customary snarl, his voice had taken on a sing-song quality. Ed wished he had his com system, so he could order Sam away. He didn't see a positive outcome until Greg or another negotiator took on the scene. The subjects wouldn't even let Ed talk so far to start the negotiations.

Just when he wondered if the SRU would respond at all, the store behind the empty customer service counter rang. "Don't pick it up," the leader snapped.

Ed didn't turn from the aisles, looking down to see if Sam was approaching from any angle. Once again he hoped that his friend had abandoned him. It was a false hope. He knew that before Sam even was in sight.

The phone stopped ringing before it started again. The leader was becoming more and more visibly nervous.

"Maybe we should-" Garret started.

"Shut up," the leader said.

"But Tyler-"

The leader didn't speak this time, because a shot fired off. Ed's first reaction was to flinch away. His training offered him the unique experience of being around armed, angry men. He wouldn't admit aloud that there was a big difference being unarmed against them. What Ed was not expecting though, was the leader was not turned to Garret, who still fell to the ground, but in a direction behind Ed. Ed didn't want to turn when he heard the sound of a body hitting the ground, but he had already allowed two mistakes from his civilian side today. He turned, knowing there was only one unaccounted for person in the store.

"I said, shut up," the leader-Tyler-yelled to the others. He had no remorse, no noticeable shock, from shooting Sam.

**Thanks for reading. Please review to find out what happens next. Also know that I am not a negotiator or in the SRU, a doctor, or anything other profession that would help me know this sort of stuff. I've just seen a lot of Flashpoint. Keep that in mind if there are some minor info errors on that sort of stuff. **


	2. Chapter 2

**I forgot to say this in the first chapter, but this story is set in between Aisle 13 and One Wrong Move. Also, thank you so much for the reviews! I tried to get back to everyone, but if I didn't you're all awesome!**

It had been a long day for his team and a long day for him, but for Sergeant Greg Parker, the work was not over yet. He supposed he could go home and relax, but he knew the moment he got home he'd have the day's events playing over and over in his head. He might as well work on the paperwork if he was going to be thinking about it either way.

And there was a lot of paperwork. It always seemed that way when the SIU was involved, when there was a life lost.

He didn't want to sound callous about the death of another human being, of a confused man who believed he was protecting his country by aiming the barrel of his gun out of the fifth story window in his assisted living apartment. He wasn't callous at all about the events that had transpired. It was why they kept replaying in his head, why the words he had used kept replaying in his head.

So after the members of his team had long departed, he forced himself to remain seated at the table, reading through the brief and getting a head start on the paperwork. Going home would mean going home to the silence, where his mistakes of the day and past transgressions could not be forgotten though mindless work and the steady hum of the SRU.

It was just after eleven when the members of team four were called out on the first hot call of the night. Hostage situation with multiple subjects at a grocery store down the street. Although the other team had mostly left him alone, he was glad for the silence that their departure left him with. The only other person occupying the SRU office was Winnie, who acknowledged him when she entered, but since had simply been working through possible calls. Her voice rang out with the all the information she had on the call as team four drove to the scene.

Greg tried to block this out at first, before he opted that letting himself become distracted was not the worst situation he could think of. He listened to the 911 call from next to Winnie's desk.

"They're in the store. I don't know how many, a lot. They have guns and masks and they look serious." The man's breathing could be heard heavily on the recording. The attendant asked for his identification and location. "Jerry. My name's Jerry. I'm a manager at the store on the corner of Providence and-"

There was a rustling sound, a curse or two, and a crash before the call was terminated.

Greg listened to the team's response, holding any critique or compliment back before he decided it really was time for him to go home. The hot call sounded like the average heist gone wrong. He moved to the locker rooms when he assured himself that team four's day was going to be nothing like his own.

He moved slower than usual, not because he was stiff or sore, but because he focused on the tasks in front of him. He folded his uniform neatly, took a moment to take off his shoes. It was deliberate and slow, the opposite of the team earlier.

Greg had only seen them get through a debrief and change that fast a number of times. The combination of multiple calls, multiple casualties, and the stormy weather made them ready to get out of here. He did understand that. Part of him wanted to do the exact same. The larger part trod through the routine with an unnecessary calmness.

By the time he made his way back out of Winnie's desk, she looked more intense than usual. This set off warning bells in Greg's head. He tried to rationalize that it might be just as bad of a day for team four as it was for them. Still, he paused by her desk.

"The subject is asking for you," Winnie said in a steady voice when Greg placed his hands on the counter. His brow immediately furrowed. "They're saying they'll only talk to you."

"The team have an ID on the subjects yet?"

Greg immediately went through people that would hold hostages but want to talk to him, and only him. The list wasn't long. Winnie shook her head.

"Tell team four I'm on my way."

His change back into uniform took a fraction of the time it had taken him to get into his civilian clothes. It always seemed easier to make that transition. He got in the standard black SUV, sirens on, and headed toward the shop without questioning further who the subjects could be. Those questions were left for the drive itself, which was slightly longer than he had estimated based on the proximity, but still took little time with the lack of traffic and the sirens.

He could see the store from afar easier tonight than most days. The front was still lit up, having never closed. Uniforms and team four occupied the parking lot, whose flashing lights insured that he did not miss the place. He pulled up and got out of the car. No visibility from the front windows, the hostages were probably alongside the red wall, which had no access from the front.

He walked over to the Sergeant Randy Goebel. He stood outside the team's van, talking to the tactical specialist. Greg walked over and extended his hand. "Heard someone wanted to talk to me," he said in way of introductions. The list of names Greg had tallied in his head was short, but none were appealing.

"Subject said he'd talk to a Sergeant Greg Parker only before hanging up. We're working on getting eyes in on the place, but options aren't looking great right now. No ID on any of the subjects yet, or how many. We've got one shot fired, but no way of knowing if any of the hostages are injured. If they don't talk to you we might have to go in blind."

Goebel didn't look pleased at this idea, but neither did Greg. The risks that put their men, as well as the hostages, were great. It definitely was not the ideal situation, but the subjects had chosen a good building to hold people in. Few windows, lack of entry points. Greg skimmed the blue prints and saw that while there was a back door, they'd be just as visible from there as the main entrance.

Time was key here, and they needed to get a hold of the situation before it escalated. "Permission to call in?" Greg asked Goebel. It was his scene, and he had the right to deny or allow him intervening. The other sergeant nodded his approval.

With that Greg headed to the van, entering and seeing anther constable that he really should know the name of, but he was a rookie and the name escaped him. Greg offered a smile before pulling on a com system. Sergeant Goebel had followed him in. "11:17 p.m. Sergeant Gregory Parker arrives on scene," the rookie read into the auto-transcriptor. Greg pressed the button enabling him to call the store. "Begins negotiations," the rookie continued.

The phone rang. There was a moment just long enough that any nonprofessional would be concerned that the subjects would not answer at all. The ringing stopped and there was shuffling sound on the other side after a few seconds. Greg took this as someone picking up the phone.

"My name is Sergeant Greg Parker with the Strategic Response Unit. I heard you asked to speak with me."

He waited for a response.

"He'll be doing all the negotiations from now on," a voice replied and then another shuffling sound.

"Boss?" This was a new voice, one that Greg was very familiar with.

"Ed? Is that you?" He waited for the confirmation before any emotion took root. Even when it came with Ed's affirmative, he quickly pushed it aside. This was the time to be professional.

"I've been taken hostage by four teenagers," Ed began when there was commotion on the other side. Greg turned with his com off to Goebel.

"Where are we with a visual? I've got a man in there."

Goebel didn't pretend to act offended by the suggestion that they should be further along than they were. "I'll go check on it."

Ed's voice came back and Greg turned all his focus back to him.

"They don't want me to give descriptions of them. They say that if you don't have a car in the ten minutes, they are going to kill someone."

He could hear the impatience in Ed's voice. It was slight, so that anyone who did not know Ed would not have been able to detect it. He also sounded stressed. This worried Greg.

"Can you tell me how many hostages there are?"

"Five, me included. Boss." There was a pause. "Sam's here too."

That explained the tension in Ed's voice. He was worried for another member of his team. "Anyone injured?"

"Sam was shot. It's serious."

Greg swore under his breath, standing up in the van. "Can you get one of the subjects on the line?"

He heard Ed talking, not to him, but he kept the phone near his mouth so that Greg could hear everything he said. "My boss said he would really like to talk to you to get the specifics of your demands."

There was another shuffling.

"What do you need?" the same voice before snapped. He sounded hostile.

"We're working on the car right now. May I ask who I'm talking to?" Greg tried to pretend this was like any other hostage situation. Goebel was on standby incase Greg needed to step down. Still, they asked for him, probably because they knew he was connected, or because Ed had said something to make them believe he was the guy to talk to.

"You don't need to know. You need to get me that car."

"We're working on that. As a sign of good faith, why don't you release the injured hostage. He needs medical attention and you don't want him to die."

"You don't know what I want. You know him too? Tha' why your guy called him Sam? Why don't you call him by his name?"

"You're right. I do know Sam, and I'm really worried about him. We working on the car right now, but we'd be more inclined to help if we knew that everybody was okay in there. Can you do that for me?"

"He's not dead yet. He's gonna make it 'nother ten minutes, when the car should be here."

"It might take us longer than that. We're working as hard as we can."

"Work faster than."

Greg sighed. This was not what he wished for when he wanted a distraction from the events earlier in the day. He didn't want a worse event to overshadow them. He tried to stay in the mask of negotiator, care for everybody's lives in there, not just his men's. It took more effort to than it ought to. "Can you tell me if all the other hostages are alright?"

"They're fine. We're all fine."

"I'm going to be honest with you. Our goal is to get everybody out of there safe, your team included. We can't do that if you're not talking to me. Can you tell me your name?"

There was a pause. If Ed was right, and he probably was judging by how young the voice sounded, this was a teenager he was dealing with. Not a seasoned criminal.

"Tyler," the boy said. "But I'm not giving you a last name."

They were at least making some progress. "I bet your family's going to be worried about you, Tyler. Just like Sam's family is worried about him right now."

Sam's mom and dad might not know of the situation yet, but his family-Ed, Greg- they were worried about him. For the first time, Greg thought of the rest of the team. Of Jules, Spike, Lou, Wordy. He knew they would be worried about both of their coworkers inside the building.

He could hear heavy breathing on the other side. Clearly what he said made something of an impact. "Look, I'm letting his buddy help him. He'll be fine if you get me that car."

"How can you be sure, Tyler? There could be internal damage. What kind of gun do you have?"

"Stop asking me questions and get me the damn car!"

The phone buzzed after the teen hung up. Greg shook his head in frustration.

"We've got eyes in," one of the members of team four said. Greg straightened immediately and looked to the laptop placed next to the auto-transcriptor. Grainy images of the subjects and hostages came into view. There was a larger man next to a small girl, both looked to be employees judging by what Greg could make of their clothes. Next to them was an older man resting against the shelves. He probably needed medical attention as well, though Greg did not see any blood.

Three of the subjects were armed, wearing ski masks to cover their faces. One stood by the phone, presumably Tyler. Another paced back in forth in between Tyler and the hostages. The third armed subject had his shaky hands pointed to the hostages. Greg hoped he wouldn't accidently pull the trigger. All three carried handguns, but the image wasn't clear enough to determine anything but that.

The fourth subject did not have a gun in his hands, but that would have been impossible since both of his hands were being used at the moment. He was kneeling next to a prone form with blond hair. Greg had to assume it was Sam. The subject had pulled off his mask and seemed to have used it to staunch the blood flow. Ed was on the other side, his bald head making him the most distinguishable one there. He had blood all over his shirt and he was bent over Sam as well.

The image did not give him much confidence. He reached over to dial the phone once again. Based on how much blood he could see, Sam couldn't play the waiting game. He watched Tyler look to the phone on the computer. It was ringing. He saw Ed saying something. Tyler said something to him then Ed was standing up. The subject who had been pacing pointed his gun at him and followed him as Ed moved over to the corded phone.

"Hey, Boss. They want me to let you know how serious they are," Ed said.

"Can they hear me on the other side?"

"That's a negative."

"I've got a visual, snake cam through a vent in the ceiling. Any idea what these guys want? Is it personal?"

"They want a car, a nice car. Expensive."

Greg could see how Tyler, and everyone else, seemed to be listening in on Ed's words. He was trying to be discrete as he explained their intent. "So a robbery gone bad? What about the one with Sam? Is he armed?"

"Not a threat, Boss."

Ed had to do some explaining for that comment. Tyler seemed very interested in the conversation. Ed gave off an explanation for the response. "My boss is saying that he can't get the car that fast. You know Sam's not going to make it that long. Let him get help so you don't have his death on your conscience. You know they are working as fast as they can," Ed was still talking to Tyler.

Although it was nice to see Ed working on the teen when Greg couldn't, he hoped he was using his words to scare Tyler. At the same time Greg feared that it was a message to him as well, that they needed to go tactical.

The information that there were only three subjects to worry about now helped some. That subject also was the only unarmed one. Tactically it had minimal advantage, but Ed trusted that kid with Sam's life, so he must have done something.

"They say you have another ten minutes to get them a car, but that's all," Ed finally said into the phone.

"Suggestions?"

Ed knew the subjects better than him or anyone else on the outside.

"Words can only go so far."

It was his permission to go tactical, that he knew what the risks were and he would still chose that. Ed was bias, of course, as was he. It was up to Sergeant Goebel to make the ultimate decision, but he was listening in and he heard the same things Greg did.

"And don't get one of those cars with any _distracting_ lights. We can make our own if we have the time," Ed said after a moment.

There was more conversation on the other end. Greg couldn't make it all out this time since Ed had moved the phone down.

"What have we got, Goebel? Any chance of a stealth approach yet?" Greg asked.

"Not yet. We can go with a flash-bang and CS gas, but it's still risky with the layout and three armed subjects so close to the hostages," Goebel responded over the com system. "Sounds like Ed can make a distraction of his own somehow," he offered.

Ed was back on the line. "Any progress on the car yet?"

Greg figured he meant progress with the plan. "You're too close to the subjects. An entry plan isn't going to work yet. You think we can get these kids to let you go? Or at least get away from the hostages?"

"Maybe one."

"Good. If you hear a siren, send one of them away and make your distraction, we're going to do a forced entry. Until then, work on calming the other subjects. Can I talk to Tyler again?"

There was movement and muffled conversation for a moment. Greg took this to take a breath and think through what they knew about Tyler. Still not very much, no last name, no motive, no background. While team four worked on tactical, Greg prayed that Tyler would have a change of heart, that his words, which had failed earlier today, could make an impact.

"What do you want? You have my demands."

"Like I said, we are working on that car. We're doing everything we can to help you and your friends. How long have you guys known each other?"

"Since we were 14, had the same class together."

"That must a been a few years. I still talk to one of my friends when I was a kid, his name's Danny. We knew each other real well back then. You know your buddies well?"

"Yeah, we're tight."

"Good, that's good. It's nice to have someone to talk to. Sometimes it doesn't even matter how long you know a person. I've known Sam for about two years or so, but I trust him with my life."

Greg left the statement open ended to see where Tyler would take it.

"Yeah, well, sometimes you hav' to do wha' you hav' to do," was his response.

"I understand that, Tyler. I understand having to do something you don't want to do and I know you didn't want to do this today," Greg said, not sure if the last clause was entirely true. It sounded so from Tyler's last words, but the teen had been switching around more than he could keep track of.

"I didn't want to. We had to. No choice. Just like you got no choice but to get us that car, or your friend here dies."

Just as Greg had thought of the switching personalities, they were back again. He could feel the malice in the last sentence. He knew the chances of him getting the hostages out fast enough for Sam were slim to none. He bit his bottom lip, wishing there were some magic words he could say to get this kid to believe him. He kept trying, knowing that Goebel was working the alternative as they spoke.

"Why did you need to rob the store, Tyler? What happened?"

At the very least Tyler could be semi-distracted before they forced entry. If his focus was on the phone, it wouldn't be on the entrances.

"It doesn't really matter now, does it? We didn't get the money. The manager doesn't even have access anymore."

"Are you in some kind of trouble? We can help you. I want to help you, Tyler. I want you to let me help you."

"You don't want that. You want your buddies out 'f here safe. I get it, but I gotta protect my own too, y' know."

Goebel entered the truck. "We've got the entry teams in position. Ready to send off the warning siren."

Part of Greg wanted to sigh in relief that they were going with immediate entry, that they were going to get to Sam before he bled out and to Ed before anything else could go wrong. Then again, the chances of something going wrong only increased with the forced entry. Ed said he could get one away and provide a distraction of his own, but he didn't know if that was going to be enough. Anyone could still get caught in the crosshairs.

"Tyler, one of our squad cars needs to leave. They need to go check on another scene. We know you're not going to hurt anyone else, so they aren't needed anymore. You're going to hear sirens in a moment, okay?"

**Thanks again for the reviews! Please continue doing so, it inspires me to write more! =) I also realize I didn't capitalize Team Four and Team One. Imagine I did. At least its consistent? Sorry!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AiP informed me that Team Four already has a sergeant in the show, so please come up with some logical explanation for that in your head. Thanks again for the reviews, here's the next chapter =)**

The phone was ringing. It was an older phone, must have been. Otherwise the owners had programed a vintage ring on a newer phone, but he didn't think that was the case. It was too loud, like the corded phone was sitting right next to his ear. The noise aggravated his headache. What did he get a headache from?

He tried to think of where he was, why he felt like someone had pistol-whipped him in the head. Except it didn't feel like that. The space right behind his eyes hurt. His ears were ringing, more so than the phone and on a different octave. Nothing seemed to make much sense.

Sam opened his eyes.

He was not prepared for the onslaught of light, color, and blurred outlines that attacked him. He flinched, but with that movement, pain originated from another area of his body, one that had felt weirdly numb beforehand, but Sam hadn't given it much of a thought, since his thoughts were already difficult to string together.

This pain was much more sinister. Where the aching in his head was just that, an ache, in his chest he felt a tearing sensation. He felt a pressure, a sensation of heated metal being branded into his skin and below. He closed his eyes in hopes that the pain would disappear.

"Sam? Are you awake, buddy? Can you open your eyes again?" A voice, collected, calm, sure, everything Sam wanted to feel at the moment said in a low tone, right next to his ringing ears. "Come on, I need you to open your eyes."

For any other person, Sam would have outright refused. He would have had no intention of obeying those orders. For the voice- one that rang distinctively familiar, that reminded him of his time before SRU, one that he had to listen to- he pried his eyelids up the smallest amount, seeing if the pain would increase.

It didn't, not that it got any better, but the blurry images above him slowly came into focus when Sam opened his eyes all the way. He turned his head in the direction of the voice and saw Ed, a neutral expression on his face. That meant one of two things. Sam had either pissed him off majorly or something was majorly wrong. He didn't know which one he preferred it to be.

"What's wrong?" Sam tried to get out. He managed to choke on some of his own spit in the process, making him cough and igniting the fire in his chest to a whole new level. The moment he found himself unable to catch his breath, Ed's hands were pulling him up to a semi-elevated position. Breathing was easier, but moving hadn't been fun.

In this position, Sam could see more than half of Ed's face and the ceiling. He was facing outwards. He was in a grocery store. He tried to think, tried to come up with an explanation of the fire. He looked down, hoping to get a glimpse of the origin of the heat.

From the number of times he had been injured, in the SRU and in the war, he should have been expecting the pool of blood surrounding Ed's hands. He should have known that Ed's hands covered mangled flesh, but nothing prepared a man, or a soldier, for that. Nothing.

Sam closed his eyes, letting a groan escape his lips. If at any moment he was allowed to express weakness, it was laying slumped against his friend in a grocery store sporting a bullet wound. "What happened?"

"You're going to be just fine, buddy, just fine." While Ed was speaking, his eyes kept glancing up and to the right. Sam had to focus. He had to bring himself back into the moment.

He had been stupid to move blindly to the front of the store like he had. He was a trained SRU constable, not a rookie. The moment he had moved in, hands in the air in order to surrender for both Ed's life and his own, he felt the pressure in his chest before he heard the gunshot. He couldn't think back any further than that.

The voices around him were heated. Sam concentrated on the words.

"Pick up the phone and bring it to me," one of the masked men yelled to another. There were four, and there were three other hostages on the floor next to the one yelling. That made five hostages total. The fact that they outnumbered the subjects made little difference when they were armed.

The one closest to the phone grabbed it. He was shaking, must have been new to the game. His black converse only concreted the idea in his mind. Sam wouldn't have been surprised if all of the subjects were under twenty.

He had to concentrate on the words the next subject said, the one who moved up and down the nearest aisle. Still, he only could make out half of what he said. Something about the police and guns. Sam felt increasingly light headed, like he need to lie down and have a long night's sleep. Except that he was laying down, and his lack of sleep didn't explain the feeling.

Ed's eyes kept moving back to Sam. He could feel the pressure of his gaze. From that look, Sam knew that he probably didn't look so good. Then again, neither did Ed. The right side of his jaw had swelled up. It looked just as bad as when his buddy got his jaw broken in a bar fight overseas. Sam blinked to bring Ed back into focus. The world seemed to be pulsating, moving slightly. He definitely wanted this to end.

The job came first though, it had and always would. He looked back to the four subjects. The one who had shouted held the phone now. He was talking to the one who had brought the phone to him. Arguing with him.

One of the subjects started walking toward them, and Sam tensed, regretting the motion as soon as he attempted it. He bit his bottom lip to keep the noise in.

"What are you doing?" The phone was ringing again in his hand.

"You wanna go down for murder?" the second subject said.

He was kneeling next to Ed now. The first subject answered the phone, when the one closer began to talk. "My name's Garret. You're a cop, right?" he looked to Ed. This was not a question. "Do you got first aid training and stuff?"

Ed nodded. "I need some sort of cloth, something to stop the bleeding," his voice made Sam want to be that calm. He could feel his pulse vibrating his body. He was shaking harder than the kid.

Without a second's thought, Garret pulled his ski mask over his head and handed it to Ed. Sam wasn't a profiler. Hell, he was probably the worst on his team when it came to negotiations in the beginning. Still, he was right to guess that this subject was young. His face was youthful. Freckles, shaggy red-brown hair. He was maybe fifteen.

Ed took one of his hands off of the wound. He could feel the sensation of his own blood rushing out. He didn't know if he wanted to puke or pass out. Before he could think through that for more than a moment, Ed removed his other hand and pressed the mask into Sam's chest. His vision blurred and he could feel his muscles spasm on their own accord. He had no idea what sound he made, but after rational thought returned, the look on Ed's face suggested he had made one. Sam was having trouble breathing at this point, unable to reassure the man that he was okay, or at least going to be.

Garret had his hands hovering in front of him, ready to move into action. Sam wanted him to take a step back. He couldn't protect himself by any means. While he didn't look like the type to do much of anything, he didn't look like the type to be robbing stores either. Ed shifted the pressure on his hands and Sam gasped in pained surprise. He felt like child with all the complaining he was making. He was a soldier. He should be equipped to deal with this.

The noise he had made this time drew the attention of one of the other subjects. "Why'd you take your mask off, stupid?" Sam focused on the voices harder this time, ignoring his body betraying him with each rough breath he managed to get in.

Garret had lost a little of the scared sheep look from a moment before when he responded. The kid's emotions were a lot clearer with the mask off. "It's not like it matters. They're not letting us outta here. Right?" Garret looked to Ed.

The other subjects caught onto the glance right away. "Why would he know?"

"Because he's a cop, he deals with this shit a lot, probably."

The one holding the phone paused, as did the other two. "You're a cop?" He turned to Garret. "You knew he was a cop?"

"It said so in his wallet," Garret started to lose his confidence as soon as he had found it. "When I was lookin' over them, there's police ID. He probably deals with this stuff a lot."

Sam didn't know what to think of this development. Under normal situations, he might have been able to guess whether this was good or bad for Ed. Right now, though, the ability to draw upon original thought was dwindling, probably faster than he thought. He was having trouble concentrating, having trouble listening and reacting to the words that were being fired off to one another. He looked to Ed's stony face for instruction, tried to pull on a mask of his own.

"That true?"

"Yes, Tyler," Ed started. "I'm a member of the Strategic Response Unit. We handle high risk situations. I help people get out of situations safely, to minimize risk."

"So you know how the cops work, right? What to say to get them to help us?"

Tyler was moving faster than Sam's eyes could follow. His blurred image drifted from one edge of his vision to the next, like a book of pictures that seem to be moving, but still seemed broken into individual scenes. Sam had one of those when he was a kid. He made it on the corner of his workbook in class. When his dad saw that he was drawing instead of paying attention, he'd gone crazy.

Sam didn't like to think about that too much. His lips fell into a frown without even thinking about it. Ed's face. He needed to look calm, so that he could be calm. He imitated Ed's expression, but he started to close his eyes too. It seemed easier than watching the picture book in front of him.

"I can help you guys, Tyler, but the best thing for all of us is if you answer the phone. The police will think you're not willing to respond if you don't answer." That was Ed's voice. It seemed far away, until it was right next to his ear. "Sam," he said quieter. "I need ya to stay awake for me, okay? Sam, you need to open your eyes."

This wasn't Ed's emotionless voice, or his negotiator voice, it was rushed. Speaking quickly. The difference made Sam feel the urgency to open his eyes to the blurry world again. It was getting harder to breathe, like something was constricting his lungs. He was close to gasping at this point. Not being able to breathe was almost worse than the pain. He needed to stay in the moment. He couldn't get lost in what he was thinking or feeling.

"Who 'm I gonna be talkin' to?" Tyler asked, looking at the phone.

"He's from the SRU and he's going to help you if you talk to him," Ed was back in negotiator tone. There was always a difference in his voice- in Sarge's voice too-when he had to speak to the subject. There was a certain way you talked to a man holding a gun, ready to use it. Sam had learned that before the SRU.

"You work with the guy?"

"My team is off duty at the moment, but this man will be able to help you."

"Who's the guy on your team who does the callin'?"

Sam could see through Ed's mask, only because he had known him for as long as he had. He could see that Ed didn't like where the conversation was going. Ed was talking again, that same even tone that soothed the emotionally charged. It was aimed for the subjects, but Sam focused on the tone too. He tried to make his breathing be like Ed's voice. Calm, even, deep. His body refused, but the mindset helped.

One minute Tyler was near the counter, the next he was next to the hostages. He was closest to a girl, young, in an employee uniform. He had a gun pointed to her head. The situation had escalated. Spit fell from Tyler's mouth as he yelled.

"I want the name of your guy!"

Ed nodded. "His name is Sergeant Greg Parker of team one."

Sam could hear the tension in his voice, the want to jump up and save the girl, even in the dire circumstances.

There was a megaphone outside. Although Sam didn't make out the words, he knew the negotiator was asking him to pick up the phone. There was silence, a break from the emotion from before. Sam's mind assessed his body involuntarily. He was cold, but the pain in his chest had gone from unmanageable back to the heavy weight. He didn't know if this was a good thing, but Sam didn't really care at this point.

The phone rang again. This time Tyler picked it up. "I will only speak to Sergeant Greg Parker. Don't call unless if it's him."

Then he put the phone down. Sam blinked and he was back next to the other hostages, closer to him. Ed was looking at him again.

"You're doing just fine, Sam. Just hang in there. We'll be home soon." Ed's voice was only loud enough for him to hear. Garret might have as well, but Sam decided he didn't really care about Garret anymore. He didn't really care about any of the subjects or the situation as much as he should have.

Sam would have said something back, but coming up with the air to bring words out of his mouth sounded like too much effort. He tried for a smile to say that he understood. If he had thought he was tired at the end of his shift, he didn't know what he was now. The only thing keeping his eyes open was Ed's presence. Ed was on the job, he should be too.

The girl was sobbing, looked like she had been for a while. The older man was sheet white resting against a display behind him. The manager was awkwardly patting the girl's back. He didn't look like he knew what he was doing. Ed was speaking again to the subjects, mainly Tyler. Tyler was leading the show. If he decided to surrender, the rest would follow. Sam didn't listen to Ed this time. He was focusing on keeping his eyes from falling shut again.

"You're going to pick up the phone when Greg calls." Tyler's voice surprised Sam back into semi-alertness. "He's gonna get me what I want 'cause you're in here." A thought seemed to dawn on his face. "Garret, check if the other guy's got a wallet and a phone."

Ed protectively moved in between Garret and Sam. Sam's eyes tried to track the movement. Ed couldn't go far though, with his hands still pressed to stop the bleeding. Sam didn't feel that anymore. Garret whispered something, something he couldn't make out though. Then there were hands touching his pockets.

He had thought that he had exerted all his energy simply breathing, but the probing touch made his adrenalin rush. There was no thought in the action. He jerked his body away, surprising both Ed and the touch. He had been numb seconds before, but everything fell away the moment he moved.

Now on his side, all he could feel was the pain. He didn't feel Ed's carefully maneuver him back into his old position. He didn't feel the Garret's hand grabbing his wallet or Ed reposition the mask over his chest. He didn't know that the movement erased all the clotting his body had worked on.

There might have been voices overhead, fighting.

"Tyler, you gotta let him go, he's gonna die."

"Look, he's a cop too, but you're on the same team. Greg's team. I ain't letting him go."

He didn't notice himself start coughing again, spitting blood onto the floor.

"You need to listen to Garret, Tyler. His name is Sam and he is seriously injured. You still have me and the other hostages. You still haven't killed anybody yet. You need to let Sam get medical attention."

He didn't notice much of anything after that. The voices drifted away. Even the pain, something he thought was going to haunt him for the rest of his life, however long that was going to be, began to diminish. Sam might have heard a voice next to his ear again, repeating that he was going to be okay, but that he needed to stay with him. That he couldn't close his eyes, couldn't go to sleep.

Sam stopped thinking about the voice. He stopped thinking about the store, about where he was and the condition he was in. Instead he thought about his bed, laying in it. He thought about working out with the team, about the feeling he had laughing at the team bashing Wordy on his movie choice. He focused on anything and nothing.

It wasn't so bad, nothing like before. He didn't let go because he would never do that. Instead he relaxed and stopped thinking. He'd hold on. He would as long as he could, but right now he just needed a break from the spinning world and confusing voices, from the ringing in his head and his shaking muscles.

Once he took a nap, he'd be able to help get out of the situation.

**I can never resist a little whump. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. If so, tell me why. If not, tell me why… lol. I'm probably going to say this at the end of every chapter, but reviews mean so much to me so please take the time to leave one! Thanks! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks again (and again) for all of your reviews. They make my day over and over again! Thus, here's the next chapter.**

Constable Lewis Young should have gone home after work. After more calls in one day than they sometimes get in three, he had every excuse to head home and sleep through all of tomorrow, which the team had off. All day they had been running from scene to scene, researching the subjects, maintaining a perimeter, discussing less-lethal tactics. His body was weary, yes, but it was in _on_ mode from the day's events, and he needed to wind down.

Lou and Spike opted to share the wind down in the shabby bar down the street, open until three in the morning. It was only about 11:30 by the time they had finished their first round and called for another. They talked like nothing had happened in the day and relaxed like they were just two buddies enjoying a beer on a Friday night. They pretended the day never happened.

The bartender, an older man with a scruffy mustache and a hard face, placed the beers in front of the two with a nod. It was nice, the way he left them alone to their devices. Sometimes it was fine to have conversation on a lonely night, but not tonight. The guy seemed to notice.

"Can you believe that?" Lou asked, tilting his beer in the direction of the dingy television hanging off the wall. It was another hot call for the SRU. Behind the muted reporter, their black van could be seen.

"Another one? I swear it's go-crazy-with-your-gun day or something," Spike said, squinting to see the screen. Lou didn't bother attempting to read the subtitles at the bottom. He knew that the details were irrelevant. The team on shift would be able to manage. He looked back to the swirling amber liquid in his mug, foaming from the movement.

"Must be a full moon or something. I'm just glad we got out of there while we still could."

"Everyone has to sleep sometime, right?" Spike laughed. Then his voice slowed down a bit. "Thing's will settle down."

Lou looked to Spike, but Spike's eyes were still glued to the television. His previous impish grin had died down a little, settling to a frown.

Lou turned back to see what had captured Spike's attention. Nothing jumped out at him. A blonde reporter with a curvy body and larger than natural hair stood in foreground. Behind her, the SRU truck was visible, as well as flashing lights and uniforms. In the very back there was some store, it appeared. None of this really alerted Lou, handling situations like that was there job. Of course the SRU was there.

"What's up?" he asked, still watching the news program for some sort of clue as to why Spike had sobered so suddenly.

The moment he spoke, though, he recognized Spike's confusion as he read the scrolling subtitles across the bottom of the screen.

_Four armed men hold hostages at Great Values Grocery Store during a robbery gone bad. Sergeant Gregory Parker seems to be the lead negotiator for the case. The men are still unidentified, but two of the hostages have been confirmed as employees, 17-year-old Erin Matthew and 29-year-old Jerry Clark. Matthew's mother is on scene. _

Lou stopped reading when Spike spoke. "What's the Boss doing still working?"

Lou shook his head, squinting back up at the screen. It offered no answer. "He's not on shift. You think something might be up?"

"You bet I do." Spike pulled out his wallet and put enough down to cover both of their drinks plus a tip, standing up for Lou to follow. "And I intend to find out."

"Can you do something with your computers?"

"Technology can only get you so far," Spike said. Lou followed him out of the bar with over a thousand responses to that on the tip of his tongue. He'd asked the question to get this sort of response, but Spike had done even better. He bit back a grin, about to make a retort. That was when he thought of why they were leaving, and once again his brow furrowed. What was Sarge doing as negotiator? Team four was on call, not them, obviously. So what was he doing?

They were close enough to walk to the store in question, which was Spike's plan, or so he assumed. It was his plan for sure. It could be nothing. Sarge might have just wanted to go on another case. Somehow though, Lou doubted this. He doubted another sergeant would willingly let him on scene either, unless something happened. He quickened his pace, Spike matching it almost immediately.

"Maybe he's involved with the case, knew more, could connect better with the gunmen," Spike offered. His attempt to rationalize the situation was almost the same as Lou's. In the pit of his stomach, and he was sure Spike felt it too, he knew something was wrong.

"Did Sarge leave with us?"

Lou tried to think back to when they were still in the SRU to answer his own question. He and Spike were the last to leave the locker room. Ed had been on automatic, hurrying through his routine. Sam had been in a rush, the second to leave only moments after Ed. Wordy laughed with them a bit, interested in Spike's story. He denied the offer of drinks to go home. He had a wife and kids to wake up with in the morning. He tried to think if the Boss had ever even entered the locker room. He didn't.

"He must've hung around," Spike said.

They were rounding the block to the SRU building. Only a little farther to the store. Maybe the news had gotten the wrong name for negotiator. This wouldn't be the first time they'd messed things up. He'd been Louis Young, Kevin Wordsworth, or simply an SRU officer more times than he could remember. The teams had just switched. Maybe the news station was working off of old information.

They made quick time with no pedestrian traffic to deal with. The streets were mostly deserted, even if it wasn't too late yet. The days were getting shorter, weather getting colder. That coupled with the odd storm that had sprung up earlier today, causing on and off rain, it made sense that people stayed indoors. Lou didn't complain about it, made it easier to travel and that's what mattered at the moment.

Their gait was nearing a trot by the time the store was in sight. Uniforms set up a perimeter to keep out the odd bystander who considered getting a closer look and the obnoxious reporters who thought they were invincible. Sarge was nowhere in sight, but Inspector Stainton was talking to a paramedic near the yellow tape.

"Inspector," Lou made his voice loud enough for the man to hear, and official enough for him to look up.

"How did you guys hear about this? I made sure it's not in the news yet, but I don't know how long it will stay that way," Stainton responded, walking closer to the perimeter.

"What's going on? Why is Sergeant Parker on this case?"

"You don't know yet?" He lifted the yellow tape and Lou and Spike ducked underneath. "Two of your team are in there."

Lou took a fraction of a second to think about what he said, that two of his teammates were in the store. He wasn't even sure the fact had processed before Spike interrupted his thinking.

"How's that possible?" he snapped, not in anger, but needing answers. Lou felt the same way, or at least he thought so. He thought back to the information Stainton had just given them. Two members of the team. Where they working the case along with Sarge? How had half of their team gotten roped up into this call when they supposedly were off duty? He and Spike were half-way to getting drunk, and his teammates were suited up for a call, apparently inside the building?

"You guys should go talk to Sergeant Goebel. He's by the van."

Perhaps he would have demanded more information from the man at a different time, but being a member of the SRU made him recognize the importance of time in dire situations. It was always best to go with the source who could reveal the most, rather than having to go to two and get the same facts. Rather than questioning why Stainton suggested they spoke to Goebel rather than Sarge, he moved in the direction of the van with Spike only half a step behind him.

They looked out of place, even with the professional demeanor both he and Spike had adorned the moment they crossed the tape. He'd changed from his uniform into casual civilian-ware after the shift. It was hard to look like they belonged in jeans.

It was funny, that the thought even occurred to him. What did it matter what he was wearing? Without looking down, he couldn't say what color shirt he had picked out this morning. Still, the thought _did _occur to him. If he wanted to psychoanalyze himself- which he didn't, that was Dr. Luria's job- he'd say it was to distract himself from other thoughts. There was probably a term for it, but Lou wasn't going to ask, not now or ever.

Goebel was standing next to the van, as Stainton had informed the pair. He had his notes out in front of him, but he still managed to look up in surprise when they approached.

"How'd you hear?" he looked just as confused as Stainton.

"On the news. What's going on here, sir?" Lou tried to keep it as short as possible. Spike kept glancing to the storefront, but it looked pretty normal apart from the cops swarming around.

Goebel looked down at his notes for a moment before returning his gaze. "What do you know?"

"Greg Parker is negotiating with the subjects. Stainton said some of our team is in there."

Lou needed to know the answer to his unasked questions, but he knew they would come soon enough. His mind was still working through possible situations, starting with the more convenient rather than the more likely. It didn't take long for his thoughts to grow bleak, despite his best efforts. "What's happening?" he asked for the third time in as many minutes.

"The subjects demanded to speak to Parker and nobody else, that's why he started the negotiations. We figure one of your guys gave him the name. Subjects are only escalating. We're in a damned if you do, damned if you don't kind of situation here. Tactical risks the hostages and the team, but things are only getting worse."

It seemed stupid, the thing that mattered to Lou the most at the moment. He cared for the entire team, they were like a family at this point. Slightly dysfunctional, maybe. But they had spent enough time working out and goofing off that Lou more than trusted each one with his life. It didn't matter who was in the store, any answer would be the worst. But because of the bond the team had, knowing who was in there was the most important fact to him at the moment, one that Goebel neglected to inform them of.

Spike beat him to the punch. "Who is it?"

Spike was the kind of guy that allowed almost all of his emotion in his voice. When he got excited, the pace picked up, the pitch varied more than anyone else Lou knew. He'd seen Spike down too, and he knew the bleak air that overwhelmed his words. Right now though, it was neither of these. It was professional, like he was asking about any other hot call. Lou admired him for this.

Spike had always been his best friend on the team. He might have said that he cared for each of his teammates the same, but Spike was the only one that he would have been friends with outside of work. He would never say so, but in the fraction of a second it took for Goebel to respond to Spike's question, he was glad that he'd opted to share a beer with Spike after work. Still, if it wasn't Spike, it wasn't Sarge, and it obviously wasn't himself, it was somebody else.

"Ed and Sam are inside with three other hostages. The only two that seem to be fairing are the employees. Ed's brought on all the attention to him. He's been doing most of the negotiations as a middle man."

"How are they doing?"

"That's our problem. Sam was shot, having breathing problems according to Ed. The CS gas is dangerous, but so is leaving all of them with the gunman. The leader shot off two rounds about five minutes ago. Just into the ceiling, but he's escalating and it's only a matter of time before he shoots someone else," Goebel said as he continued to examine his notes, as if they were going to give him the answer.

Lou bit back anger. The guy didn't even have the decency to look him in the eyes when giving that kind of news. Lou focused on this anger rather than the alternative. He didn't really like the implications of the words, of the events that had occurred.

"What can we do to help?" Spike asked.

"Can you remain professional? I know those are your teammates, and I have to ask."

Spike nodded.

"Of course," Lou said, forgetting the anger for something far more productive. He didn't even stop to consider the veracity of his statement. He was capable of remaining impartial in any situation, even if it involved his own life. He trusted himself to make the best call for the event, no matter the people involved.

"We have a couple uniforms in the van, go gear up."

Lou could almost say that he relaxed at these words. With something to do, something that was going to make a difference and keep his mind and body occupied, he didn't have to worry about the what ifs floating around in his head.

This time he was following Spike as they entered the van. Lou had spent a lot of time in here with Sarge, researching subjects and working the auto-transcriptor. It was because of this that seeing a young constable he did not recognize working on the computer seemed odd, particularly because next to him was the Boss. And he didn't look good. One thing that Lou could always count on was his ability to remain in control of the situation, but right now the worry lines on Sarge's forehead gave him little confidence.

When Sarge noticed them, he made the same looks as both Stainton and Goebel. It looked different on him though.

"We saw you were the negotiator on the news and came to check it out," Spike said. "Sergeant Goebel cleared us to gear up."

Sarge nodded and he almost looked relieved at this. Lou turned and pulled out the spare uniforms they had in the van, handing one to Spike. "How're you doing?" Lou asked the Boss.

He rubbed his forehead with a shake of his head. "They're not talking. I can't get anything from Tyler, the leader. We still don't have last names."

"And Sam and Ed?"

"Ed's alright. We got eyes in, looks like he got hit over the jaw. There's some pretty bad swelling." He indicated to the screen next to the other constable in the van who remained silent. "Sam needs medical attention."

After Lou strapped on his vest, he approached the screen, where the inside of the store could be seen. There were three masked men. One was leaning against a display, hands on his knees. One was gesturing with the gun all over the place, moving close to the hostages, while another stood straight near the cash register. "I thought there were four gunmen," he said.

Sarge pointed to one of the hostages, crouched over a figure. "He came in as one. Ed said he's not going to cause any more trouble. He's been taking care of Sam when Ed can't."

Lou didn't like how the Boss acknowledged the prone figure as his teammate. It made his eyes immediately train on what was visible of him, which wasn't much. The friendly subject covered his upper body and head from the camera's angle. Only Sam's legs could really be seen, and they didn't tell much of a story. Lou steeled himself and searched for his other teammate. Ed was crouched on the other side of Sam, closer to his legs. His hands were tied in front of him with what might have been duct tape.

Sarge had been right about Ed's jaw. Despite the blurry image, he could see the disfigurement. He also had blood smearing his shirt, from a wound that definitely needed more attention than a band aid. Even though he knew most of the blood was not Ed's, at this angle, it was more difficult to see his team leader in such shape than his teammate. He surveyed the rest of the hostages. An older man appeared to be slumped over in between his friends and the two employees. The employees looked alright.

"We're getting ready for entry any second," Sarge said in a way of dismissing them. What surprised Lou, however, was that the Boss stood up to follow the two of them out. "There's nothing I can do in the van anymore."

"Ed's going to set the distraction and get one of the gunmen away from the hostages when the siren's go on," Goebel informed Lou and Spike, reiterating the fact to the rest of the team. "I want Lou and Spike to enter from the black wall. Greg, I need you as backup in the front. Let's do this."

"Copy that," one of the members of team four said. They must have already gotten their assignments.

This was any other tactical maneuver as Lou followed Spike and two other SRU officers to the rear of the building. He and Spike provided cover for the other team, who had their weapons ready. A siren rang from the front, and Lou knew they were giving Ed a moment to work inside of the store.

Over the com link, Lou heard the other team speaking to each other. He stayed quiet, more so than if this was his own team. He was here simply for backup. He didn't belong on this team. Part of team was in the store. That's why he was here.

The thirty seconds they gave Ed felt significantly longer than half a minute. His thoughts wandered further than he would have appreciated, to grim images and dark ideas. There was no time to consider a worst case scenario, not when he was working.

He glanced over to Spike, who appeared to be collected. Lou hoped he was the same way. He met Spike's gaze when he heard the order to enter.

Constable Lewis Young entered the premise. It was what he was trained to do. He did not flinch at the release of the Flash-Bang. His mask protected him from the irritating agents of the CS gas. He used his shield in conjunction with Spike's, forming a moving wall. Shots rang out from the front of the building. He heard them before he saw the chaos, or what he could see of it through the aggressive entry devices.

Constable Lewis Young performed his job, shooting at the subject who opened fire upon the shield. He didn't think about this as anything but his job, something he did on a daily basis, something he was trained to do. Lou waited outside, his mind focused only on insuring his teammates were alright.

**What'd you think? Will everyone make it out alright? I wish I could add dramatic music to this… but not really because that would be annoying. This fandom proved to be awesome about reviews for my last story, so maintain that belief for me by continuing the review! You're awesome!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning: there are a few swear words and drug references and other not so nice stuff in this chapter. It's all really mild, but in case anyone got skittish about that kind of stuff.**

He didn't mean to get into all of this. He hadn't woken up this morning with the urge to rob a grocery store just for the hell of it. He'd swear on him mom's grave, this wasn't planned. It had all been Tyler master plan to get the money he needed.

The money wasn't even for him. Even if everything had panned out perfectly as planned, it wasn't like he was gonna get any of it anyway. He was so fucking stupid to even go along with this scheme, but when Tyler, Jon, and Michael showed up at his place with Jon's father's gun collection, there wasn't much time to weigh the pros and the cons. He followed them out and took the mask when they gave it to him.

Jon only had three guns, which was just fine by him. He quickly offered to be just another body, muscle if need be. It just added to the hilarity of it all, that he was the muscle in this job. He was barely120 pounds, and he was the muscle. If he lived to see another day, Garret would look back at his younger self and laugh at what a coward he was.

He'd genuinely liked Tyler when he first met him. It had been right after his mom died- he'd been about fourteen at the time- and Tyler and his friends had offered him the peace and quiet of their hangout over the sound of his dad getting drunk every night, hollering at pictures of his mom. The pot helped sooth his feelings too.

Tyler had always been into that kind of stuff, right from the beginning. Garret liked to smoke occasionally, he'd love to right now in particular. But Tyler was different. He liked to push the boundaries and see what it offered him.

He wasn't sure, but Garret thought that this trait of Tyler's was what caused him to even need the money in the first place. His connections into his other life weren't nearly as friendly as Jon or Michael, if you could even call those guys friendly. He wasn't sure what Tyler had done this time, but he was the kind of guy that trouble liked to follow. Or maybe he simply liked to create it. Only this time, Tyler must have gotten himself into bigger trouble than he could handle. And somehow, Tyler screwing up led to him holding some cop's insides from falling out.

The second he thought about it, Garret had to fight the urge to puke. Nobody knew except his dad, but he had an awful queasiness when it came to blood or dead things. And while the guy was still breathing, he definitely looked dead.

His name was Sam, according to what the other cop had said. Sam hadn't really been alert enough to confirm it, but his wallet did. He didn't look much like his picture anymore though. The hair was the same mostly, but the guy's face had turned a corpse-like grey and his lips were tinged blue. He looked dead, even though Garret could hear his wheezing gasps across the room.

He did not wake up this morning with murder on his mind.

He didn't have a choice anymore, though. He had told Tyler right from the beginning that they should just forget about it and leave, but nobody listened to him. Nobody ever listened to him, and although he should have just marched out right then, he didn't. He wished Tyler had just listened to him. They could have found another way to raise whatever kind of money Tyler needed. Anything was better than killing a guy, surrounded by cops with no way out. There was no pretty ending to this endeavor. Tyler had killed a guy.

Maybe two, by the look of the old croak near the stacked canned vegetables. He looked pretty bad too. He was shock white and listless. That, Garret could at least deal with. Not the blood. The stench of the blood coming from the wound made him wanna pass out.

At least the guy was out cold though. Garret didn't know if he could deal with him being awake anymore. He didn't want to watch someone die again, but particularly not while he was awake. He didn't want to know anything about him. And the way the other cop, Ed, talked to him. It reminded him of the last time he spoke to his mom after the accident. He didn't like hearing the platitudes, the _you're_ _okay_s. Because he wasn't okay. Nothing about this situation was okay, and Garret was pretty sure he was going to witness someone die for the second time. Unless that Sergeant Parker could work miracles, he didn't see Tyler letting anyone go anytime soon.

In fact, things seemed to be getting worse. After they told him about the cops leaving, he felt like he needed to show the negotiator he meant business. He screamed until he was hoarse about how all they needed was a car and then he taped Ed's hands together and threatened to shoot him in the head.

The whole time Garret stayed still, watching in amazement as Ed looked right into Tyler's eyes and explained why he didn't want to do that. It was like having a gun two inches from his forehead was no big deal. He didn't even blink. Hell, Garret wanted to fucking cry and he wasn't even the target of Tyler's anger this time. Tyler had listened to Ed, but it pissed him off even more. He kept pacing back in forth mutter about the fucking car.

He didn't even understand why Tyler wanted the car. He shot a cop. It wasn't like they were going to just let him drive away after that. Tyler was out of his mind, flipping over anything not bolted to the floor and throwing curses at anything that moved. Jon and Michael, who never questioned Tyler, even looked a little unsure. For good reason though, he belonged in a loony bin.

Ed was the only one who seemed calm throughout the whole thing. Well, him and Sam, but Sam had the upper hand by being out for the count. It's not like he could react to much. If Garret had to wager, in this state he doubt the guy even cared that he took a bullet to the chest.

Ed had something planned. Garret could tell. He had spent his life observing people over interacting, and that gave him an insight into behavior, kind of like a scientist of some sort. He could tell by the way Ed stayed so calm. He might be police, but he had to have something up his sleeve.

Garret heard sirens outside, the ones the negotiator warned him about. When Ed moved closer to Sam, and by default Garret too, he wasn't all that surprised when he looked at him real closely. "Stay low," he said under his breath.

It was a warning, and Garret supposed he should feel honored that Ed thought he deserved this sort of knowledge. He had been involved in a plot that was going to kill his friend after all.

Ed straightened himself up and turned to Michael, who was next to the two employees. Garret didn't like looking at them because the cashier looked about their age. She would have been hot, if she didn't have make-up streaks running down her face from all the crying she had done.

"I need some paper towels to staunch the bleeding. The mask is too saturated."

Michael didn't want to kill anybody. Garret knew that. He had a younger sister and a dog. He wasn't like Tyler, even if he was willing to go along with the plans. Garret saw Michael look down to his hands, which Garret was trying really hard to forget about, and he saw Michael decide that Ed was telling the truth. He leaned forward and then trotted down one of the aisles. Tyler didn't even notice. He was too busy doing whatever the hell he was doing.

It made sense that Michael believed Ed. Garret could feel the warm stickiness of the mask under his hands and he knew that actual bandages should have been applied a long time ago. Garret didn't believe Ed though. Not in the slightest.

That still didn't prepare him for what happened after Michael left.

Ed threw a bag of something in the air, which seemingly exploded in a dusting of snow. Except it wasn't cold, and it wasn't much like snow. Before Garret could process Tyler's words or the fact that the mystery powder was simply flour, the whole world exploded.

Garret had lived through some pretty harsh times. Coming from himself, that didn't mean much, but he'd seen a lot that other kids his age hadn't. He knew what the end of a belt felt like against his back. He knew what it was like to see the only person who cared about you bleed out in front of you. He knew what kind of damage alcohol could do to a man.

None of that helped him cope with the lights that burned his eyes, even after he leaned over Sam's almost dead body. It didn't help him avoid the fiery sensation the air filled with. When over the echoing sound of the initial bang he heard gunshots, nothing in his life could stop the tears that ran down his face.

He had never really believed in God, 'cause how could anybody let his life go down the shitter like it had, but he found himself whispering the words of Hail Mary, something his mother had trained him to rehearse when he wasn't old enough to understand what the words meant.

The body underneath him didn't flinch at all. Garret wished he was unconscious too, because he felt like his ears were bleeding and his eyes were bleeding and he could smell the rusty scent of Sam's blood so much he knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

And then Ed was right next to him, pulling him off of Sam's body. Ed grabbed his hands from the blood-soaked mask and pushed him to the floor, guiding his hands to the back of his head. "Stay there," he said.

Ed then moved to replace the pressure on Sam's wound. Garret could hardly see, the light from before messed up his vision. He was pretty sure he saw Ed say something to Sam, who didn't hear him for obvious reasons.

It felt like forever before the gunshots died off, before he felt cuffs being clicked into place on his wrists, which were covered in the guy's blood. Someone was hauling him to his feet, but the craziness of it all left him weak in the knees. Like a girl, he felt himself falling to the ground before the officer holding him put all of his weight onto his wrists. Garret found his feet pretty quick and had to question whether or not both wrists were broken through the sudden onslaught of pain.

His ears were still ringing, but they managed to snatch the end of Ed's words from somewhere nearby. They were more reassurances, and Garret knew they weren't directed at him. He looked up and saw Ed hovering over a stretcher. Somehow, the paramedics had already made it in and had transferred Sam onto the bed.

Ed's hands had been freed too, and he looked like he didn't want to let go of his friend for a minute before he did. Ed then looked at him, looked like he was gonna say something, but the officer with an iron grip on his arm yanked him toward the store entrance before he could say anything.

Garret could still feel the tears on his cheeks as the officer maneuvered him out. The tears didn't obscure his vision enough, though. He saw Tyler sprawled out between the two check out areas, a pool of blood under his head. Garret looked away, but he was pretty sure the image was already scarred into his brain. More medical guys were coming in, tending to the old guy and the other hostages, to Ed and Jon, who had a bullet wound it looked like on his thigh.

There was so much blood.

It coated everything. His hands, the floor, the rest of his life. Garret had always hated blood, and now it was going to stay with him. This time, he did upchuck. The officer holding his arm jerked away, not releasing his arm as Garret tried to purge his body of all the blood.

When he was unsuccessfully finished, Garret was shoved toward a squad car next to a big, black van with the words Strategic Response Unit painted on the side. The man in front of the van, wearing a hat and a stern expression, Garret knew to be Sergeant Greg Parker.

"Wait," he said, turning to the guy holding him. "Please, wait."

Parker had heard him, he wasn't that far away. He took the few steps toward him and nodded to the other guy. "Give us a minute," he said.

The officer stepped away and Garret was left face to face with the man. He didn't know why he had called to stop. He didn't know the guy, not really. But he felt forever indebted to the guy. He would have wiped away the fresh tears on his face in embarrassment if his hands hadn't been handcuffed behind his back. "I'm sorry."

That was all he could mutter out and it felt rashly inadequate, stupid next to the events of the day.

"You did good in there, Garret. You made the best of the situation you were in." The words were not forgiving. Garret had spent enough time studying people to know that. Still, they helped.

"Tyler's dead," he said like he thought Parker would care.

"He made some bad decisions," Parker acknowledged. He didn't say Tyler was a bad guy. He wasn't, not really. Or maybe he was. Garret didn't know much of anything anymore, but he did know that Tyler had helped him through a really hard time in his life. Tyler's house and the drugs he offered him erased the horrible memories in his life. Garret owed a lot to Tyler.

"Is Sam gonna die?"

Parker showed real emotion at his words. Nothing major. Most people would have never noticed it, but Garret knew that this guy really did care for Ed and Sam. "He's being taken care of."

Garret knew why he was a negotiator after only a second's conversation with him. He hadn't lied, nothing yet. He also hadn't said anything hurtful. Didn't sugar coat anything, just said it so that the words didn't burn him like acid.

"I'm sorry," he said again, hardly able to believe a guy he'd just majorly screwed with had the decency to spare him. Parker just nodded, and then looked over his shoulder.

Garret glanced in the same direction. Ed was gingerly moving to the pair. Garret knew Tyler kicks hurt, and he wouldn't be surprised if something was broken. Ed stopped in front of them.

"You need to go get checked out," Parker said before Ed could speak. He nodded, then looked to Garret.

"You were brave in there."

There were a lot of responses to Ed's statement. He could have denied it, because he wasn't really all that brave. In fact, he was downright the opposite. He could have thanked the guy for the nice words. It wouldn't have meant much. He could have started bawling, which is what he wanted to do. Instead, he gave a small nod. Then the officer came back and had a grip on his arm again, leading him away from Parker and Ed to the car.

He was pushed in, the guy put his hand on his head like he was going to struggle. On another day, he might have to prove that he was worth something. Today, he didn't feel like it. He proved he wasn't worth much of anything when he followed Tyler and his friends into the store. He proved he was worthless when he felt a guy's life drip out of him and couldn't do anything about it.

Maybe if he had been given the chance. If he had an older brother like Ed to watch out for him after all the shit went down, he wouldn't have blood on his hands. Instead, he had a guy like Tyler, who shot first and never thought of the consequences. He never had a dad like Parker, who gave him the truth in a gentler form than belts and fists.

But he never did. It was a simple as that. From the back of the squad car, he saw three stretchers coming out with sheets draped in the form of bodies. He saw an ambulance pull away and Parker leading Ed to another.

Garret didn't know who the bodies were, didn't know if it was Sam or Michael or the tearful but beautiful cashier that could have meant more to him in another lifetime. It didn't really matter anyways, because all of the deaths were on him. At this point, the count hardly mattered. The who hardly mattered.

When Garret had woken up to the sound of fists pounding on his front door, he'd expected a day of getting high or trying to swipe trinkets from the grouchy shopkeeper near his house. He'd expected to laugh at Tyler's not-so-funny jokes and spend a few hours doing nothing. That's all he wanted when he got up this morning.

Now he was sitting in the back of a squad car, the image of his mother, limp and lifeless, blended with the officer, Sam, stuck in his mind. He was going to jail, probably charged as an adult. At this point he didn't care. All he wanted was a shower. He wanted something to try and scrub away the blood that stained his hands.

**I normally hate reading from the subject's pov, but I couldn't resist. Tell me what you think and thanks for reading! *cough* review *cough***


	6. Chapter 6

**I probably won't be able to update tomorrow, by the way. But as soon as I can I'll post the next chapter. Thanks for the awesome reviews!**

There were only a few reasons why her phone rang in the middle of the night. She knew it wasn't because they were on call, because they weren't. They had just gotten off shift a few hours ago, and there was no way she could be dragged out of bed at this hour to go back to work after such a long shift. It wasn't Sam either. He occasionally would give her a call at odd hours of the night when they weren't scheduled the next day. That had ended with their relationship though. It better not be a telemarketer either, because if it was they were about to get a piece of her mind.

With a groan, she stretched to the other side of her bed to pick up her cellphone. She flicked it open without even thinking to glance at the caller ID. She blew the hair that had fallen in her face before sighing a "What?" onto the line.

"Jules? Is that you?"

It sounded like Spike. Pulling the phone away from her ear, she squinted into the bright light of the screen to confirm it was him.

"It's the middle of the night. Please tell me you aren't drunk," she said, clearing her throat in an attempt to sound a little more alert.

"Jules, something's happened."

The severity of his voice woke her up faster than a bucket of cold water. She sat straight up in bed, clutching the phone closer to her ear.

"What's wrong? Where are you?" She knew that Spike and Lou had gone out for drinks after work, which is why she had initially thought he might be drunk dialing her. She knew her teammates though, and she knew they wouldn't be stupid enough to drive intoxicated or do something dangerous. Or she thought she did.

"It's Sam and Ed. You need to get to the hospital. We'll fill you in here." Jules opened her mouth to protest, but Spike must have developed a sixth sense. "Just get up here. Please, Jules."

He sounded more tired than she felt. There was a weariness in his voice that suggested it wasn't for her benefit that he wanted to wait to inform her of what had happened. Even though a million questions were running through her mind and she wanted to just demand the answers right now, she asked which hospital and then stood up.

There was no time to get dressed. She had worn modest pajamas, but she threw on a jacket over her tank top and carried only her cell phone to the door, where she quickly grabbed her car keys and made her way outside.

She should have put on jeans over her capris pajama bottoms. It was colder outside than she had expected, but Jules was not about to go back inside. If Spike was calling in the middle of the night, distressed, it wasn't for no reason.

She broke more than a few traffic laws on her drive to the hospital. It was hard enough to concentrate on driving with all of the thoughts speeding through her head. She merely made her car go at the same pace as her thoughts. She knew where the hospital was. It didn't take any thought for the route. It was the same one she had spent the months of her recovery at after her bullet wound. She could get herself to that hospital from almost any point in town.

It was usually an eighteen minute drive there, with traffic. She made it in only a little over ten. Whether it was the speed of her trip or the illegal left turn, she didn't really care. Ten minutes was long enough.

It was long enough to think through possibilities she didn't want to really come up with. None of them really seemed plausible. She couldn't come up with any realistic idea as to why Sam and Ed had been together, or at least they were probably together, since they were at the hospital. The odds that both of them had simultaneously injured themselves enough for medical attention unrelated to one another seemed even more unlikely.

Ten minutes, though. That gave her time to come up with some creative ideas. She did make a living seeing people in distress, she could extrapolate from there. She pulled into her usual parking lot, the one she knew had the shortest walk and didn't have as much traffic as the others. From there she all but ran to the nearest entrance. Spike said they had been set up in a waiting room near the ER.

Like the last time she had been on a call at this hospital, she recognized more than a few nurses. But as if she were on a hot call, she moved without stopping to say hello. Sam and Ed were in the hospital. Both men were the kind of people who downplayed injuries, as if pretending they didn't exist would make it so. For either to be here…

She didn't want to finish that thought.

She couldn't finish that thought. Ed was her team leader. He made decisions in the field every day, and he insured that she came home alive every day. But he was more than her teammate. He was a friend. When the team went out for drinks, she could count on him to make her laugh with his dry sarcasm and quick wit.

And then there was Sam. She would like to say he was just another friend to her, but he was more than that. They weren't together, never would be again. They both loved the team too much for that. Still, she cared for him like she cared for anybody she loved. Not being in a relationship would never change her feelings toward him.

And they were both in the hospital, and she didn't know why. She should have demanded the answers from Spike. That's what she should have done, but that was selfish. She knew she did the right thing by waiting. She'd hear what there was to hear. In just a few minutes, she'd find out it was just some stiches and meds. She'd probably be laughing at the ordeal she turned this into.

Or she'd be crying on the floor, finding out that two of the most important people in her life were dead. That kind of idea floating around just made her push her steps further. She didn't want to alarm anybody, but this was a hospital. People probably ran through here all the time. But it'd give her fuel to yell at Sam and Ed for making her look crazy running through the halls. She'd give them a piece of her mind for scaring her like they did.

Because this was all just some misunderstanding. Sometimes Spike got a little carried away with things. Sure, him calling her to the hospital, sounding like he did, it was a bit of a stretch to say that this was nothing, that he exaggerated. But then again, it wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility. Nothing was outside that realm as she approached the desk in the Emergency Room.

"Excuse me, Ma'am?" She got the attention of the nurse working on her computer. "Two of my friends came in here recently. Sam Braddock and Ed Lane. Do you know where I could find some information about how they're doing?" Her voice was much calmer than her mind. In the SRU, she had to know how to appear outwardly calm amidst inner turmoil.

"Let me check," the nurse said, turning back to her computer. She typed something in, squinted, and then typed again. Jules had to hold back her impatience. The nurse worked for another moment of two before looking up. "Waiting Room One is available for the family and friends of Mr. Braddock. I don't have any information on Mr. Lane. I'll page someone to show you to the waiting room."

"No need," Jules quickly interrupted her. "I know where it is."

It was a bit of a walk to the room in question. Spike had said they were there. She hoped the fact that Ed didn't have a waiting room of his own meant that he was okay. Then again, she hoped that the fact Sam _did_ have a waiting room meant he was okay too.

The door was closed to Room One. She didn't knock before entering. She had been in one of the rooms before. There were chairs lining either sides of the wall, one on the two ends. They had a phone in the corner and rather pleasant pictures on the wall. All of the colors were neutral, the walls, the carpet, the chairs. She hated these rooms.

More than that, though, she hated the expressions on her teammates' faces when she walked in the room. They immediately squashed the tiny hope she still had that this was just her overreacting, that it was Spike overreacting. It wasn't. Sarge, Wordy, Lou, and Spike. They were all there, sitting in the provided chairs. Nobody spoke, not even when she came in.

"Are they alright? What happened?" There were fifty more questions she could fire off, but she settled for those too. She looked at the Boss when she spoke, looking to him for direction. He was their ultimate leader in the end. He would give her the answers she didn't want, but needed.

"There was a robbery gone wrong. Ed and Sam got caught in the middle of it." He paused. She knew he was watching her for any ill-reactions to the slim news he had given her. She gave him nothing, silently demanding more answers. He only gave her more questions.

He moved his hand familiarly to his forehead, moving his hat so he could properly massage his head. It was then that she noticed he was in uniform. In fact, all of them were in uniform, except for Wordy who appeared just as unkempt as she probably did.

"Ed's alright. He's getting checked out in the clinic. He had some bruises. He'd been kicked around a bit," Sarge said slowly.

"And Sam?" she asked when he didn't continue. She hated the way her voice cracked with emotion. He was just her teammate. She should have felt relieved to know that Ed was alright, but her worry for Sam overshadowed that.

"He was shot, Jules, in the chest. They're working on him. We don't know anything beyond that."

She sank into one of the chairs. She hated these chairs.

"But he's going to be alright, right?" The words were out of her mouth before they processed in her brain. She wanted, wanted more than much of anything at the moment, Sarge to just nod his head and say everything was going to be just fine. But the Boss didn't lie. Not about things like this.

"We don't anything for sure yet, Jules."

He kept using her name. You're supposed to do that to subjects to keep them calm. It helped the connection, kept them in the same plane as you. It didn't help. It made her think of when Sam said her name, and those weren't the type of thoughts she should be having. Not now. Not ever. He was probably dying in some room, maybe as close as fifty feet away from her, and she was sitting here thinking about how her name sounded on his lips.

She hated herself.

"But Ed's alright? He's going to be fine?" She had to focus on the positive, had to get her thoughts away from him.

Sarge nodded this time, like she had wanted him to do before. It helped a little.

"What happened in the store? Why are you guys in uniform?" She motioned to Lou and Spike, but her eyes remained on the Boss.

So he told her, He told her his account of the night. Some kids decided it'd be fun and games to take their parents handguns and put them to use. The robbery hadn't gone as planned and one of the teenagers had a breakdown. He was the one who shot Sam and hurt Ed. He told her about how the negotiations were not working and she felt the frustration hidden under the Boss's calm demeanor. They had been in a Catch-22. They don't know what kind of damage the CS gas did to Sam's weakened lungs.

She didn't want to hear anymore, but Jules didn't stop Sarge. She was an SRU officer. She could handle the details of a hot call. She had been on plenty very similar to this. Just recently they had been sent to a grocery store robbed by two angry teens. They had shot a guard that time. He lived.

But they had shot him for trying to get the gun away. She didn't know why anyone would shoot Sam. Yeah, he was more than annoying at times, but she would never be able to hurt him, not like that.

But she had hurt him when she broke things off. It was to protect him, to protect herself. He didn't know what was best for the two of them. She did. She didn't really hurt him. It was to protect him.

Jules wished she could protect him right now. But she couldn't do much of anything. So she sat in the damn chairs that she hated quietly, even after the Boss had finished recounting the events. There was nothing to say, nothing to do.

There was a clock on the wall, but she couldn't bring herself to look at it. She didn't want to know how long she sat there in silence with her team. They were supposed to be at home right now. Lou and Spike were supposed to be having fun if they hadn't decided to retire already. Wordy was supposed to be snuggled in bed with his wife. The Boss was supposed to do whatever it was that he did after his shift before he showed up to the next one.

They were not supposed to be here.

When the door opened again, Jules jumped. She was trained for vigilance, to deal with surprises. She was not trained to deal with this. She turned slightly to have a view of the person entering, thinking maybe it would be a doctor with an update or a nurse telling them they had to move.

It was Ed.

The lower half of his face was marred with color, bruises already having formed. His jaw had begun to swell too, which was why he had an icepack rested against it. Before he could even enter, Jules was on her feet, giving him a hug. He grunted in pain and she jumped away.

"I'm sorry." She hadn't meant to hurt him.

"It's alright, Jules." He turned to Sarge. "Any news on Sam?"

The Boss shook his head.

"Have you called Sophie yet?" Ed asked.

"I didn't want to alarm her. I thought it'd be best for you to talk to her at this time of night."

Ed shuffled over to the closest chair which happened to be the one next to Jules.

"What did the doctor say?" Sarge asked.

"Just bruising. I'll be fine in a few days." Ed's voice was slightly slurred from the swelling. He kept the icepack on his face. Jules was beyond relieved to see Ed alive and standing after the fifteen minutes or so she had to worry about him being dead. Seeing Ed so bruised, though, that made it so much more real. If she thought the rest of them looked tired, Ed looked worn out. He was pretty pale, resting against the back of his chair. He switched the hand that was holding the icepack up.

She let out a gasp.

For someone to be shot, there had to be blood. She'd been shot. She would know, but somehow the blood on Ed's hands surprised her. He didn't turn his head when he looked at her, but Jules sheepishly looked down. Of course there would be blood.

"You should go home and get some rest," Sarge diffused the awkward silence. He was talking to Ed. He scoffed.

"I'm fine right here."

There was no argument. There was nothing else to say. Jules knew if she were in the same situation as Ed, she would say the exact same thing and she would be asking for someone to disagree with her just to see what happened.

It was quiet for a moment longer before Wordy stood up. "I'm going to see if they can get someone who knows anything," he said. Jules wished she had thought the same thing earlier.

He maneuvered around the team's knees in the small room before he exited. Jules watched him leave. No news was good news, or at least that's what they say. Still, she wanted to have something to work with, at the moment, they had close to nothing. All she knew was that he had a bullet wound to the chest. She'd had the same thing, but she'd been lucky. The doctors had said if she had gotten to the hospital any later she would have died.

It had taken much longer for Sam to get medical attention. That didn't mean too much though. Bullet wounds were tricky. It all depended on the weapon and where the wound was. Sam had one thing on his side, the fact the weapon was relatively small. She wasn't sure about the latter. She would have died, but she had no idea where Sam had been shot, if it had hit anything too vital. It was all just a guessing game at this point for her.

Wordy entered sometime later alone. "They said they'd send one of the doctors down as soon as possible for an update."

That meant he wasn't dead yet. Jules didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry at that thought. There weren't many situations to compare this with, not knowing how someone was, whether or not they were alive. She almost felt guilty about the day she had been shot. That wasn't her fault though. She would have to talk to Sam before she decided whether or not he could have prevented this.

And she would talk to Sam. He was strong, definitely stronger than her. If she could survive a bullet to the chest, he could.

Someone entered for a third time, and this time the team was accounted for. She doubted Sam was in a state to enter, but the naïve, innocent side of her had her hopes ever so slightly when she turned. It was the doctor, presumably the one Wordy had tried to talk to. He took one step into the room so that he completed the sort-of circle the team had formed in their chairs. He then crouched down so that he was on their level.

He glanced around at the team, taking in their state. His eyes lingered on Ed for just a moment before he opened his mouth to speak. Jules wanted him to just spit it out. She was tired of all the waiting, of all the speculation. She hated it.

She hated this whole situation.

**So, what do you think? Please review with your thoughts =)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay, so rather than responding to everyone's reviews I decided to get this chapter up earlier, hope that's alright with everyone. Doesn't mean I'm not super grateful for all of them though! Because I am!**

Ed left the room moments after the doctor. Between his headache and the stress of the night, he wanted some space and fresh air. He turned right out the door and walked to the nearest exit, which was almost visible from the room they had been set up in.

The doors were on a sensor and they opened as he approached. A blast of cooler air hit his face, but it felt nice against his hot jaw. It had been steadily raining when he entered the hospital. Puddles had formed and the trees shook from the wind, but it wasn't raining now.

There was a stone bench still dry due to the overhead above the entrance. He took the three paces or so to reach it and slowly relaxed into a seated position. His ribs still protested the movement. From there, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and his hands on his forehead, letting as deep of a breath as his pain threshold would allow him.

He hadn't called his wife yet. Sophie was asleep at this time of night. He agreed with Sarge, there was no need to alarm her by a phone call this late. Phone calls in the middle of the night were bad, especially when he was supposed to have been home hours ago. No call. He would send a text before she woke up telling her he was alright, then let her call him. That was the plan. He loved his wife and son more than anything under the sun, but he just wanted to be alone at the moment.

It sounded bad, that he didn't want his family with him. Right now, though, they were sleeping without any worries. He didn't want to interrupt that. Not to introduce them to the hell he had been in since he had gotten off shift.

It felt like days ago that Sam asked for a ride home. He should have said no. He hadn't even felt like driving him after the day, so why had he said yes? Sam would have made it home safely. He might have been bone tired at the end of his walk, but he would have been alright.

Next time someone asked for something from him, Ed was going to say no.

He lifted his head to stare into the parking lot. It was less than half full, dimly lit by the lampposts scattered throughout. There was no movement, little sound. It was the opposite from the store earlier in the night. It was restful.

Ed didn't feel rested. Not after the news he had just heard. He was supposed to have felt relief. The anxiety the bullet had created the moment it entered Sam's chest should have abated when he found out that his teammate was still alive. This was when he should go home and sleep.

He couldn't though. He couldn't go home. He couldn't leave the hospital. His body and mind craved the idea of calling a taxi and sleeping through his day off tomorrow. His conscience had him sitting on this bench with one hell of a headache and sore ribs to boot.

He was fine. He hadn't even been admitted. The doctor had shone a penlight into his eyes, made sure he was all there mentally, ran a few tests, and kicked him out. He was fine, just a few bumps and bruises.

Thunder rumbled overhead, which caused Ed to look up just as it began to downpour. Even under the covering, the wind pushed some droplets onto his shoes and pants. He should go inside, but it would take more than a little water to convince him of that.

Everyone had emotions, and Ed was fully equipped to deal with them. He talked possible jumpers down from the ledge and angry gunmen to surrender. Just because he knew how, though, did not mean that he was inclined to join the storm of emotion brewing in the small room.

He could feel the static in the air when he had first entered. Jules and Wordy had joined Sarge, Lou and Spike. He hadn't talked much to Spike and Lou before he drove with Sarge to the hospital. He only insured that he was alright after speaking one last time to Garret before he was carted to the police station.

Before he had anything to say, Jules had jumped up and put a little too much pressure on his chest. It had taken him by surprise, and he could see the hurt in her eyes when she jumped away with an apology on her lips. At the time he hadn't considered it much before looking for answers. Surely the team would have known by then if Sam was dead.

But they didn't know anything, so he sat down and added his own charge to the growing storm. After the doctor had come in, he decided the real storm outside was a better alternative. He exited before he could hear the response from any of his teammates, before the Boss could tell him that there was nothing he could have done, before Jules's calm mask cracked, before the news had really sunk in.

A hand on his shoulder brought Ed out of his reverie. He glanced up as Wordy made to sit next to him on the bench. He didn't say anything right away. Ed appreciated this, but he could feel Wordy waiting for him to start the conversation.

"He gonna be alright," was his concession.

"The doctors seem hopeful. Are you alright?"

Ed didn't look over at his friend, but he knew Wordy's eyes were directed into the parking lot, as were his own. He didn't like the question.

"I'm fine."

"Good. I was worried about you. I talked to Lou and he wasn't sure how you were doing before I got here. I'm glad you're fine."

"Me too."

They both were quiet for a little. If it had been anyone other than Wordy, apart from maybe the Boss, he would not have enjoyed the company. But because it was him, the companionship was nice. The silence was nice. Still, he was the one who broke it.

"Sam should be out of surgery soon," he offered.

Another pause.

"There was nothing you could have done. Sometimes things just happen. You did everything right in there, and Sam's alive because of that." Wordy had turned to look at him at this point, and Ed wished he had left the silence as it was. It was better than this conversation.

He nodded though. "I know that."

It was a lie, what Wordy had said. He hadn't even been there. Sarge, who also was not in that store, had probably relayed the most important events to Wordy before Ed had come into the room. He had no idea what had happened within the walls, what Ed had said and what he hadn't said.

"You didn't shoot the gun, right? Or tell them to?"

Ed looked over, starting to get angry.

"I'm just sayin'. It's not your fault. There was nothing you could've done."

"I'm fine, Wordy," he said, looking into the parking lot again wishing Wordy would leave now. He didn't feel like arguing about details right now, nor did he want to accept blind truths.

"Good," the other man accepted. Ed could tell that he didn't believe him. But Wordy was perceptive, and he stopped talking.

It was cold outside and his wet feet didn't help matters much. His head was still throbbing and each time he inhaled brought another wave of pain. He was fine though. He wasn't in surgery, wasn't admitted into the hospital. Relatively, he was doing great. He hadn't died today, not like two of the subjects including Tyler or the elderly man. He didn't even know his name, just that he started losing consciousness almost as fast as Sam. They looked about the same by the end, even if one made it and the other didn't.

Wordy _was_ right about one thing. Sam was alive, unlike those three people. The doctor said that they were optimistic, that as long as there were no complications things would be alright. Despite everything he had been through this night, Sam was going to pull through. The doctor had said a lot more before he left, but the fact that his friend was going to make it was the only thing that stood out in his mind.

"You look tired," Wordy eventually said.

Ed nodded. "It's been a long night."

That was the only admission Wordy was going to get from him tonight. He wasn't going to play the sniveling victim because that was not him. He was Team One's leader. He could handle being a part of a hostage situation. Even he, though, could admit that the night's events were exhausting. That was the only admission of weakness he was willing to speak of.

"Want to go get some coffee? They have a machine down the hall."

At this point, any stimulation would help. Maybe the caffeine would help his headache as well. He stood up. Wordy must have interpreted this as a yes because he stood up with a small smile. Ed noticed that Wordy's feet had gotten wet in the rain as well, the other man's dark denim pants matching his own. When they entered the building, both men's shoes squelched against the white tile. Ed kept his pace slower than his average gait to accommodate his ribs. Wordy acted as though it was his usual speed.

"Everyone still in there?" Ed gestured to the room gingerly with his head as he poured the black coffee into a Styrofoam cup. The coffee pot was stained a questionable color, but Ed was beyond caring. He didn't even test the temperature before his first sip.

"Jules took Lou and Spike to go get their cars at the station. Lou and Spike are coming back when visiting hours start. Jules said she'd be back," Wordy said as he poured a cup for himself.

"Just the Boss then?"

"Just you, me, and Sarge for now," he confirmed.

The two started back to the waiting room, but it turned out that they didn't have to go that far. Sarge exited just when the door came into sight. The look on his face alarmed the pair, even more so when a nurse followed him out. Ed moved fast now.

"What happened?"

The Boss looked like he was about to speak. He opened his mouth and everything when the nurse next to him burst in.

"Are you Ed Lane?" She looked to him.

"Yeah, what happened?" he asked again. A dark pit in his stomach grew when they had not immediately answered his question. It was either that or the urgency in both their expressions and her voice.

"Mr. Braddock is in recovery right now. We were waiting to move him to a room until he woke up, but he's agitated at the moment. This is normal for patients, and we prefer not to sedate him at the moment. He's asking for you and he's very confused." The nurse spoke as she headed to where Ed assumed the recovery room was. "I understand you two were in a hostage situation?"

Ed nodded.

The nurse made a rather condescending tutting sound as she swiped a card to enter the room. "That would make sense," she spoke more to herself. "Understand that Mr. Braddock has just been through a very serious surgery. Only Mr. Lane can see him at the moment." The last part of her sentence was directed to Wordy and the Boss, who had followed them all this way.

They offered no argument, but Sarge but a hand on Ed's shoulder. He met his gaze before speaking. "It wasn't your fault, Ed."

There was nothing to say to that, though, so Ed nodded again and moved into the room leaving his sergeant and teammate outside. He went through the procedure of donning a yellow cap and gown before moving to the line of beds, not thinking of how Clark would laugh his head off to see his father dressed like he was.

He spotted Sam right away. He was the only occupied bed, for starters, but there was no mistaking the blond for anyone else. He moved quickly over to the bed, where Sam rolled slightly, groaning. His eyes were half opened, undecipherable words coming out of his mouth from under an oxygen mask.

The mask was just one of the contraptions holding Sam down to the bed. From the way he moved though, Ed doubted he knew this. For less than a second, Ed stood awkwardly by the bed, unsure of what to do.

"Make sure he knows that you're here," the nurse chided in a softer tone. Ed had almost forgotten about her, but he moved to follow her advice.

"Hey, Sam. I'm glad you're okay," Ed said in a stronger voice than he felt inside. Sam definitely did not look okay. Ed moved to hold his shoulder down onto the bed. It couldn't be healthy for Sam to be moving that way.

He shouldn't have bothered.

The moment he spoke Sam froze. His glazed eyes moved unfocused back and forth until they settled on Ed. His hand moved up to the mask before Ed stopped him.

"Leave that on," he said, looking to the nurse in confirmation. She, however, had taken a step back to give them a moment of privacy. She was back at her desk area, which was about ten feet away. She pretended not to be listening.

Beneath the mask, there was no mistaking the way Sam's lips formed his name, confusion written on his face. His hand moved to his own jaw, trying to convey the message.

"I'm fine, Sam. Just relax. We're both fine."

It felt like he had uttered those words far too many times today, but for the first time somebody actually believed him. Sam lowered his hand down to the bed as if it weighed far more than it did before blinking slowly. His entire body obey Ed's request, relaxing under his words.

Ed didn't know what to say, but he doubted Sam would even understand his words if he did speak. His head had fallen to the side with lax muscles. Ed watched his breath fog up the mask. It should have worried him more, to see his friend like this, but anything was better than before. No blood seeped through his shirt. Sam looked pale, but definitely not the grey color from before. He looked bad, but he definitely looked better.

It took him seeing his teammate with his own eyes for his exposed nerves to finally be soothed. In any other situation, watching another man fall asleep would have been beyond awkward, but it was comforting to see him alive and breathing better than he had before. His pulse and blood pressure, displayed on a monitor hooked up over the bed, showed his vitals returning to what Ed assumed were normal after being shot. The nurse stepped forward again.

"Thank you. I tried to talk to him, but he was working himself up. We'll have him moved to a regular room shortly."

Ed knew a dismissal when he heard one. He let his hand rest on Sam's arm for just a moment before heading out of the recovery room discarding the precautionary measures feeling slightly numb, but overall better.

Wordy and Sarge were waiting in chairs a few yards away from the double door. The stood as soon as they saw him. "How's he doing?" Sarge asked.

"Looks like he's going to be okay," Ed kept it short. He didn't want to talk about Sam's reaction to them right now. "The nurse said they'll be moving him to a room pretty soon."

The Boss watched him carefully for any hidden emotion, but Ed maintained his mask, the one he had worn for most of the night. Even if he wanted to show emotion at the moment, he didn't think his jaw would like that idea too much. The pain only increased as he continued to talk. It felt swollen and unnatural connected to his face.

After being reassured that Sam was going to be alright, Ed felt the adrenalin that had kept his mind and body running all night began to fade. He tried to hide the fact that his hands were shaking by putting them in his pockets.

"It sounds like he's out of the woods," Wordy said. "Why don't I give you a ride home?"

It took a little bit of talking for Wordy to convince him to accept the ride. It was still less than it normally would have. Ed knew he should have argued a little more, but he wasn't up for it. He followed Wordy out to his car with the assurance that Sarge was going to stay until he saw Sam when visiting hours started after he was moved into a room. Jules should be getting back pretty soon as well. It had taken her longer than he would have thought already. He knew she wasn't obeying the speed limit.

Ed didn't speak until Wordy dropped him off at his place. He gave a small thanks before hefting himself out of the car. He cut through the grass to his front door, waving Wordy off. He shook his head as he drove off, unlocking the door.

It was nearing five in the morning at this point. He'd been out for almost twenty four hours, and he felt every single one of them. He kicked off of his shoes and walked quietly up the stairs into the bedroom. His clothes were still stained with blood. The first thing he did was dispose of them and get into something cleaner and more comfortable.

He entered the bathroom and scrubbed his stained hands with soap until they felt raw. Then he opened the cabinet behind his mirror and popped a few pills of ibuprofen. Every single knock of the day made itself present as he took a moment to rest against the sink.

He kept seeing Sam bleeding out through the ski mask. He kept seeing Garrets scared face, Tyler's dead body sprawled out on the floor. The old man wheezing from the effects of the CS gas. Images of the night were almost more powerful than that of himself in the mirror. The only thing that allowed for him to focus on the reflection was his jaw, blue and twice its normal size.

Ed turned off the light before exiting the bathroom and walking through the dark to his side of the bed. He lowered himself slowly so as not to wake his sleeping wife. She still rolled slightly under the shift in the bed. He moved over to her and let one arm drape over her smaller form.

In the morning, he would have to deal with all of the questioning, from the police, from his wife. Maybe even Sam if he was alert enough, depending on what he remembered. There were consequences from this night, but Ed was not going to deal with them right now.

He allowed himself to breathe as deeply as he could comfortably, relaxing in the familiar position. Everything could wait until morning.

**Alright, I know you had to wait a little longer for this chapter. Worth the wait? What do you think? I even added some Sam in this chapter! Please keep reviewing. You guys are amazing!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you for your continued support! I love each and every review. There's one more chapter left, so make sure to tell me what you think. (Sorry about the few day wait!)**

By the time Wordy got to his home, it was close to six. He should have known before he pulled into the driveway that Shelley would be awake. The phone call had woken them both, and as Wordy grabbed his coat and got out of the car he questioned whether or not she had gone back to bed. The lights on the first floor of the house indicated she had been up for more than just a few minutes.

"Shell, you up?" he still whispered when he entered through the front door to get an indication of where she was, but not wanting to wake the girls.

She appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Her hair was ruffled and the dark circles under her eyes, probably mirroring his own, was the answer to his previous question. "Are they alright?"

Wordy did not answer right away. He pulled Shelley into a hug and breathed the scent of her hair. She would have demanded to go to the hospital as well if not for the kids. She had known Ed for almost as long as he had.

He took a step back before speaking. "Ed's doing as well as could be. I just dropped him off at his place. Sam was shot, but he woke up before we left."

Shelley both relaxed and tensed at his words. She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him. Her words were muffled by his chest. "How are you?"

Wordy shrugged. Although Shelley could not see this, he knew she felt the movement. "It's been a long night." He repeated Ed's words from earlier.

"The girls are still asleep. I was about to have some coffee." Her statement was a question as she held his hand, moving back to the kitchen. Her steady hands gripped two ceramic mugs. Even as she shifted to pour the coffee, Wordy kept in close proximity. Shelley always had a cloud of serenity around her, or at least to him. Just being home made the situation better.

It had been a challenging night. When Spike had called him, the information he offered was close to nothing. Spike was a charged person, and his monotone voice described more of the severity of the call than the actual words. He had relayed what he knew to Shelley before getting dressed in a haste and moving to the door.

He had known Ed for twenty years. He was their team leader. He was a friend. He didn't think too much of it on the drive to the hospital, but that was a difficult task. It had gotten easier in some ways when he saw Ed with his own eyes.

He had seen worse than the bruising that colored his jaw. That's not what had him concerned. It was the way Ed responded, the look in his eyes. He knew Ed. He had an idea of what was running through his head after the Boss had filled him in of what had happened. Ed was team leader and he felt responsible for his team on and off the clock.

He seemed marginally better when Wordy watched him enter his house, but things would improve when he was with his family. Family always made things better. Just like Shelley was doing now, just sitting across from the counter from him, two cups of coffee in hand.

It felt like the first time of the night that he managed a genuine smile taking the cup from her.

"Ms. Walker from next door said she'd watch the girls if we wanted to go back up to see Sam," Shelley offered.

And with those words, she struck the one thing that concerned him just as much as Ed's guilt. He might have escaped mostly unscathed, but Sam had not. He needed to bring Ed home, but he was torn as he left the hospital without seeing his teammate.

He had made the choice to leave with Ed because that was where he could make a difference. But just as seeing Ed helped him calm, there was a part of him that would not relax until he saw Sam so he could be reassured that he was alright, or going to be.

Sam was tough. He had been through more than Wordy could imagine some days. He had killed his best friend, been to war, lived a life very different from his own. Wordy had no doubt that Sam would get through this before his body even healed. He knew that Ed would get through it as well, but he was going to have to put more effort into it. He would have to admit that there was nothing he could have done, which was a challenge for Ed.

Before he had chosen to drive Ed home because that was something he could do to make a difference. Now he was doing the same thing by visiting Sam. If he was awake, he needed his team. If he wasn't, then at least Wordy could relax knowing that he was in good hands.

"She said as soon as she finished her walk she'd be over," Shelley continued. Robin Walker, the neighbor Shelley had been referring to walked three miles every morning at five. She finished sometime after six, before seven. Shelley must have caught her before she left today, anticipating the moment.

Wordy gave his wife a smile. "You're the best."

He stood up and hugged her once more before moving upstairs to change out of the rumpled and disorganized clothes he had thrown on in the morning, replacing it with something to make him appear a little more put together in case he did see Sam. Shelley did the same, covering the dark circles with make-up and looking no worse for wear when she finished. Wordy didn't like to think about how she acquired her skills at covering things up with the make-up.

Ms. Walker knocked on the door at half-past six. Her wispy, white hair was pulled back in a headband and she still wore her exercise outfit, indicating how quickly she had come over. Shelley did her best to make nice with the neighbors, and Wordy tried as well when he was at home.

The girls were used to Ms. Walker. She babysat them from time to time with no kids of her own around. Wordy started the car while Shelley spoke to her for just a moment before getting into the car herself. It finally looked like morning outside with the sun, still not visible, illuminating the sky.

Maybe it was because of this light that the drive to the hospital for a second time that night was a hundred times easier. It could have been his wife in the car or the fact that he knew what he was getting into this time. Whereas last time he had been in the dark, there was little new information waiting for him at the hospital, or so he thought.

Wordy was calmer as he parked the car and entered with Shelley at his side. He had left before the hospital set Sam up into a room and he was not sure where his teammate was. He approached the desk and the nurse there directed him to room 305.

It was a bit of a trek on the third floor of the hospital. He signed the two of them into the visitor log. Above his name was Greg Parker, who hadn't signed out yet. Any regrets about coming up here were dismissed with the idea that Sarge had been waiting for someone to take his place.

When the two of them turned the corner, the Boss was standing to the side of a door looking worse than Wordy had seen him in a while. "Hey Sarge," he said, patting his boss on the shoulder when he was within an arm's reach.

"How are you doing, Greg?" Shelley asked giving him a hug. "Is everything alright?"

The Boss gave a weary smile. "Sam's with a nurse right now. He's awake."

"And you?" Wordy said.

"I'm a lot better knowing my team is safe."

The door to Sam's room opened and a pretty nurse stepped out, jumping when she saw the three of them. She looked at Sarge when she spoke. "I would ask that he had no visitors. But instead I'm going to ask you to make sure he gets some rest, and I'll let you stay." She looked warily at the other two.

"I promise we won't bother him too long," Wordy said.

The nurse looked appeased at this, leaving to go check on other patients. As soon as she was down the hall, Sarge looked to him. "Go talk to him. We'll stay out here for a bit."

Wordy appreciated the privacy. He wasn't trying to limit Shelley and the Boss's time with Sam, but he appreciated the moment to gage how to prepare his wife to see Sam and to prepare himself.

He pulled the heavy door open and entered the room. It was a double room two beds placed perpendicular to the door. One of the beds was empty. Sam was on the other.

"How are you feelin'?" Wordy asked upon seeing Sam's eyes were open.

Sam tried a grin, even though it fell short. "Like I've been shot." He wheezed.

He looked like he had been more than shot. He looked like he had been hit by a bus. His face was ashen. He hadn't lifted his head in greeting, showing how exhausted he was. There was an oxygen cannula running under his nose and before Sam could awkwardly pull the blanket up further with an IV in his hand, Wordy saw the chest tube and heavy bandages. Wordy stepped closer and helped Sam move the blanket into position. The move was hauntingly similar to tucking one of his daughters into bed.

Sam sank back further into the pillows after he finished the simple task looking like he had just chased down a subject. His breathing was as if he had. "Have you seen Ed?" he asked after a moment to collect his breath.

Wordy cocked his head. "I drove him home last night."

He left it there for Sam to elaborate on why he asked the question. When he didn't at first, Wordy opened his mouth to prompt him. Sam spoke before he could get a word out.

"I need to talk to him."

This didn't answer many questions that ran through his head. Once again, before he could ask them Sam began to speak. The pain killers he was on made him more verbose than usual.

"About last night. I need to talk to him."

The way Sam allowed his head to listless fall to the side on his pillow made Wordy uncomfortable. He had expected seeing Sam would lift his mood. He knew that his teammate would recover, but it looked like a long road from where he was standing. Wordy took pity on him. "I'm sure he'll come visit as soon as he gets up."

Wordy didn't believe his own words. He knew Ed like a brother. He knew that there was no possible way he had slept after that night. And if he had, there was no way he hadn't woken up when it was nearing eight o'clock. Even if he had slept in, Sophie would be up by now and she would have seen the bruising. He was up, but his phone had not indicated him trying to get in contact with Wordy.

Wordy looked from his phone back to Sam when he hadn't responded. His closed eyes and slightly more even breathing told the story. He must have been on some pretty serious medication. Wordy had been shot with a vest on and he knew how much that hurt, he was glad Sam had something to take the edge off.

He stayed standing for only minute longer before heading back out into the hall. Shelley and the Boss had moved into a neighboring bench and were speaking in whispered tones. They looked up when he approached. "Have you talked to Ed today yet?"

Sarge frowned. "I'm sure he just needs some time to unwind."

While Wordy might have agreed about any other person, he couldn't see Ed to be the type of person to stay home and hide from his problems, particularly ones that involved his team. He had half been expecting him to be present when he showed up at the hospital today.

But even though he did not agree, Wordy gave a nod. "I'm sure," he said under his breath.

He could feel Shelley's penetrating eyes before he even looked up. "Why don't you give him a call?"

Wordy was growing apprehensive about his friend. It was unlike him to stay home. He must have read his mindset wrong last night. He knew that Ed was feeling guilty, but too guilty to come back to the hospital? He didn't ask for permission before he headed to a more private area of the building to give Ed a call without disturbing any patients, even if he only had one patient in mind at the moment.

He passed the elevators and walked down a hall before he entered an empty room with vending machines and tables. There he dialed Ed's number and held the phone to his ear, listening to the ring as the call went through.

Ed picked up on the forth ring. "Is Sam aright?"

Wordy herd an underlying panic, one that was disguised by the gruffness of his voice. It was natural to assume that was there was something wrong for him to be calling. "He's doing fine. What are you doing right now?"

There was a pause before Ed responded. "I told you yesterday, I'm alright."

He had interpreted the call as Wordy trying to check up on him, which was partially true. "Sam's been asking for you. It was the only thing he said to me before he fell asleep."

"I'll be up there soon."

Phone conversations were difficult for this reason. Wordy tried to hear the quality of Ed's voice when he responded, but the sound wasn't clear enough to hear the subtle changes in pitch that would show the thought behind Ed's words.

"Do you need a ride?" In the chaos of yesterday, Ed's car remained in front of the store assuming it hadn't been towed.

"I'll manage."

Wordy rolled his eyes. "I'll be there in fifteen."

He hung up the phone before Ed could argue. Most of the time Ed's stubborn tendencies worked in their favor. It was a trait that worked for him a team leader. In times like today, Wordy wished he'd just ask for help when he needed it. Then again, that was like asking the sun not to set. It wouldn't happen.

He strode back to the bench, but the Boss and Shelley were no longer there. He slowly pushed open the door to Sam's room open knowing there was a chance he was still asleep.

He was. Shelley sat on one side of him with his hand in hers with Sarge standing behind her, leaning against the wall. Sometimes he forgot how integrated his wife was with the team. Between the barbeques and dinners they offered to host, she had grown to know his team well. Seeing her looking fondly at Sam, he was reminded of this fact.

He approached them before speaking, not wanting to wake Sam up.

"I need to go pick up Ed. Will you be okay here for a bit?" he asked his wife. He knew before she nodded that she would be, but he had found out a while ago that this was no excuse to not ask.

Sarge gave a similar nod when he made eye contact with him. He exited the room after he made his goodbyes. He had insisted on the ride for Ed not only for his sake, but for Sam's as well. Wordy had no doubt that Ed would have been able to find a way to the hospital on his own. This, however, insured that he arrived.

He had spent way too much time driving back and forth from the hospital, way too much driving in general these last 12 hours or so. He had been familiar with the route from when Jules had been shot, but he didn't remember the back and forth trips from last time.

He drove with much more focus than the last couple times. Seeing Sam really had help, even if he hardly looked okay. He was alive, and Ed needed to see that. He was unsure what had happened when Ed had visited Sam in recovery. From the look on Ed's face when he left and the way he clenched his jaw even though it was injured, Wordy could guarantee that it had not been a pleasant visit.

He got out of the car and started to the door. Ed came out before he got there. He had swapped out the clothing from last night that had been stained with blood into something much cleaner. Wordy could still see the way Ed looked when he first stepped into the room covered in blood and bruises. Comparing him to this image, Ed looked much better.

Comparing him to any other version of Ed recently, he looked exhausted and worn out, more so than the Boss or Shelley or even himself. Wordy was tempted to ask how he was the moment he saw him. Knowing Ed's answer already, he refrained.

"Sophie would have let me use her car." Ed used as a greeting.

"Then she wouldn't have had a car," Wordy parried. That wasn't his reasoning, but it had Ed contemplating for a moment.

Wordy got back into the car and Ed into the passenger seat. As Wordy pulled out of the driveway and turned onto the major road, Ed said nothing. He sat straight in his seat, a stoic expression on his face. Something was really bothering him. Much more than Wordy had realized last night. He'd assumed it was just because Sam had been the one injured. Now he questioned if something else happened in the store that made Ed like this.

Ed wouldn't talk about it until he wanted to though, and then only maybe would it be to him.

"How are Sophie and Clark?" Wordy asked to pull Ed away from his thoughts.

"A little shaken up. Soph was worried is all when she woke up."

"Did you get any sleep?"

"Some," Ed said. Wordy appreciated that Ed had told the truth, or so he assumed, rather than saying he slept fine. He could only nod in response.

At this point he turned on the radio and allowed for the soft tunes to fill the gaps in conversation until he pulled into a spot close to where he had been before.

"He's doing better," Wordy said as he locked the car and they walked toward the building. "A few months of work and he'll be back. If Jules can do it, Sam can do it."

Jules had looked pretty bad right after being shot as well. Now she was just as fit, if not more so, than she was before her injury. He didn't mean to belittle her recovery and personal strength to get back into shape, but he had no doubt that Sam could do the same if his body allowed him. For Sam, the SRU was his saving grace. Wordy knew how important it was to him to work with them.

"Every time I closed my eyes last night I saw his blood spreading out on his shirt. I saw his lips turning blue and him staring at me with no idea what was going on, but begging for help. He was totally out of it, but he kept asking for my help."

Wordy stopped walking, but Ed continued forward. "He's going to be alright," he said again for lack of better words.

"Only because of the forced entry that set his lungs back even further. It's luck that he's still alive."

"You did the best you could. The subjects weren't listening."

"Three people died. Sam almost died. My best wasn't enough."

When they made it in front of Sam's door, Ed didn't enter. He had his head bowed, but his stance remained tensed. Wordy stood next to him debating his next words.

"Sam doesn't blame you. Sam's alive because of you. If you hadn't been there, you don't know what would have happened."

Ed laughed. "If I hadn't been there, Sam wouldn't have been there either."

The door opened and Shelley stuck her head out. "I thought I heard voices. You guys can come in," she was looking at Ed as she spoke. Ed almost looked like he was going to turn around, but Shelley grabbed his arm and pulled him into the room.

Wordy stood for a moment, shocked at Ed's words. He took a breath and followed the two in, not knowing what was going to happen.

**Wordy has always been a difficult character for me to write. Him and Ed. Figures they're friends =) So what do you think? Sam pov next.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Last chapter! Even though it's the end, I'd still love more reviews and they encourage me for further stories! **

Sam didn't remember much about the first hours of his stay at the hospital, just a floating sensation and an uncomfortable aching. Those first few hours hadn't been bad in his mind, he hadn't been aware of what was going on.

The first time he could remember waking up hadn't been as pleasant. He opened his eyes to see a nurse standing over him, bangs streaming into her face. The first thought that passed through his mind was that she was nowhere near as sexy as Jules, but hers wasn't the worst face to see after being shot: white-blonde hair fastened up in a ponytail, green eyes, and round cheek bones. Nothing like Jules, but she called out his name like she was just as familiar with him as his teammate.

He had woken up in a confusion that first time. He'd been injured on multiple occasions, but nothing could help the drug-induced mindset he woke up with every time.

He opened his mouth to try and ask any one of the questions that ran through his head, but his voice failed him, cracking and making him cough. The nurse grabbed his hand when he tried to bring it closer to his face. Sam remembered her talking, but couldn't recall the words, something about the doctor coming, perhaps, because he showed up sometime later.

They'd replaced the oxygen mask that felt like it was smothering him to a slightly less annoying cannula that ran from one ear under his nose and back up again. It shifted and he was always aware of its presence, but it was better than the mask.

The doctor hadn't stayed long, probably knew that Sam's muddled mind wasn't up for much talking or understanding. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but he must have at some point.

The next time he woke up, it was still dark outside, or at least there was no light streaming in from the window. He blinked a few times to try and get his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He had to concentrate to make out what he saw in front of him.

Something must have alerted the nurse that he was awake because she entered only a moment later with a pleasant smile on her face, asking questions that Sam had to concentrate on understanding. He had to pay attention to get any thought through his hazy head. She said something about a Greg Parker and all Sam could do was nod at that. He needed Sarge in here to explain the situation. He was having trouble focusing on what was happening and the Boss had a way of speaking to people in a way they could understand.

Sarge came in a minute later and Sam wanted to ask what happened to him. Despite the smile on his face, Sarge looked like he had been through the wringer and back. He opened his mouth to say something, any words that could be strung together. Instead he found himself puking over the edge of the bed.

It had been embarrassing to say the least, but at this point Sam could hardly care. He groaned at the pressure puking put on his chest. The same nurse from before cleaned up the mess without a complaint and all Sam could do was watch her with hardly the energy to mumble an apology.

He should have held back on speaking. A dry fire rose in his throat and he started to cough. It was worse than puking. He could hardly shift into a more comfortable position as the nurse spoke to him calmly and placed the oxygen mask back onto his face.

"You were on a ventilator for a little while. It's normal for your throat to be sore," she explained as he tried to catch his breath. "Try not to talk for a little while."

The advice was given as if he were to consider a repeat performance. She left eventually after his breathing returned to somewhat normal and replaced the mask with the cannula once again. The Boss came back into the room. He looked a little more wary this time, approaching the bed slowly. Sam would have told him that he shouldn't worry, but he wasn't about to talk and he grew more and more tired as he tried to listen to what Sarge was saying.

The nurse must have told him about the ban on speaking because the Boss only used yes or no questions. They only spoke for a moment before Sam nodded off. When he woke up again, Sarge was still there, reading a magazine in the chair next to him. When he saw that Sam was away he sat up a little straighter.

"How are you feeling, Sam?" he asked right away. Sam thought about shrugging in response, but that seemed like a bad idea. Instead, he ventured to try and speak again. This time his voice was hardly above a whisper.

"Okay," he said. He tried to show his questions through the expression on his face.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Sam thought for a moment. Then he moved his head up and down. Yeah, he remembered a lot about what had happened, even though it was a little fuzzy at parts.

Sam wasn't much for conversation after that. Sarge seemed to get that so he turned on the television. Sam knew it was an excuse for him to fall asleep again and the meds pulled him under the moment he stared at the box.

There was a stinging sensation across his chest that woke him up next. The nurse was standing above him again. She smiled when she saw him watching her. "I'll be done in just a moment."

"I don't want to be on the pain meds." He kept his voice the same airy whisper in fear of starting off another fit. The nurse furrowed her brows.

"I'll go get your doctor."

After about two hours, Sam regretted this decision. He was able to stay awake for more than 15 minutes at a time, but he didn't want to be awake anymore. Sarge and Wordy's wife, Shelley were with him, though, and he wasn't about to ask for the good stuff in front of them. And while the pain was uncomfortable, it reminded him that he was still here. It was better than the feeling from before where he felt like he was going to just float up and out of the room. He could also think better and respond to their questions in the light whisper.

He didn't try to move anymore. Breathing hurt. Each inhale was another muted bullet to the chest and exhaling wasn't much better. The doctor had explained that with the decrease in medication, there would be a higher likelihood of pneumonia. It happened when you didn't breathe deeply enough. With that in mind, he tried to keep his breathing deep and steady, even when he failed miserably.

Sam thought when Shelley finally walked to the door that she would leave, but instead she brought more to the party. Wordy and Ed came in the room. Sam might have remembered talking to Wordy before, but he knew he hadn't seen Ed. It dawned on him that he needed to talk to Ed. He wasn't sure for a moment due to the traffic in his head now caused by the pain, but he needed to speak with him.

Sometimes Sam swore that the Boss was telepathic. He stood up as soon as Ed came in. "I could use some coffee. Why don't we give them a moment?"

By them he meant Ed and himself. He only understood that when Shelley and Wordy disappeared after Sarge. He allowed his eyes to follow their direction until they were out of sight. He had to process the thought of looking back to Ed.

"Hey," he said.

Ed looked bad with half his face all swollen up. From the expression on his face, Sam had to judge that he didn't look much better. His mouth formed a straight line, eyes hard. He stopped a couple feet away from the bed with his hands held behind his back.

"You can sit down." Sam looked to the chair next to him, empty after Shelley had evacuated it. Ed gave a nod and sat down. The slow nature of the movements suggested he was still hurting. "How are the ribs?"

"They're good," Ed put on a fake smile as he nodded. "You feeling better?"

Sam made an expression to convey the fact that he may or may not be feeling better than he had thirty seconds ago. He definitely felt worse than he had a few hours ago.

"You in any pain?"

Sam made the same expression.

"You look awful."

Sam managed a smile at this. "I still look better than you." It took him a moment to catch his breath after the longer statement.

Ed gave a grin that looked almost grotesque from bruising on his jaw. The look faded into a more serious one and he did not respond right away. Sam took this as a prompt for him to start.

"About last night," he started. Ed held up his hand for him to stop.

"You didn't do anything wrong. You had no idea the subjects had already escalated. No warning to try and counteract it."

Sam frowned. "I should've announced myself before-"

"You had no way of knowing what they would do. You tried to gain the subjects trust by following their commands. It was reasonable action."

The way Ed made a slight face at his last words had Sam doubting them before they even came out of Ed's mouth. He sunk further back into the pillows and closed his eyes. A headache was forming between his eyes, still nothing compared to the rest of his body but it was not appreciated. The light streaming in from the windows bothered him.

"Don't think about it anymore, Sam. If there is anyone to blame for this situation-"

This time Sam interrupted Ed. He had tried to interject saying that Ed was not at fault, which he assumed was the end of his sentence. However, he intended to raise his voice which sent him into another round of coughs. He wouldn't have been surprised if blood dripped from his mouth by the end, but there was nothing.

Sam was not sure if Ed had said anything while he was coughing. When he finished though, the only sound that filled the room was his gasping breaths. It sounded like he was trying to breathe underwater. It felt like he was trying to breath underwater. He lay there for an indefinite period of time trying to sooth the agony of his chest.

"Do you need me to get the nurse?" Ed's voice broke his concentration.

Sam didn't try speaking in response. He shook his head as vehemently as possible, which ended up being a subtle twist of his head. His body was not cooperating with him. He had never felt this weak. He kept his eyes closed. He didn't want to see Ed's face.

If he had opened them, Sam would have seen the open concern for his teammate. He would have seen the guilt that flashed in his eyes and the weight that he carried because of it. Sam would have realized the extent to which Ed felt responsible. But Sam kept his eyes closed fearing the pity he'd see on Ed's face, one emotion that he would have never seen.

He tried to keep his pulse steady so as not to alert the nurse. He didn't want her in here with Ed around. Being a sniper gave him the fortunate ability to maintain a steady heartbeat and normally breathing rate as well. The latter was beyond his mental control, but he managed to calm his heart in a short time. It was only when he had this control that he opened his eyes.

"I'm alright," his voice was once again reduced to less than a whisper. Ed was standing now, looking more like his team leader than his friend. A lesser man would have flinched from the sight.

"Are they giving you something for the pain?"

Sam would have smiled if he didn't feel so drained. Nothing escaped Ed's radar. "I asked for them to cut back a little," he admitted. There was no sense in lying to the man.

Ed made a disapproving grunt and turned away for a moment. "Why would you do that?" he asked when he regained his composure.

Sam didn't want to answer. He didn't even have a good answer to supply.

"Does Sarge know about this?" Ed asked when there was no response. Sam shook his head eliciting a swear from Ed. "I'm going to talk to a nurse."

He made a move to leave. Sam moved faster than his body was capable of, grasping Ed's arm as tightly as he could. He knew Ed could have broken the grip as if he was a child, but he didn't. He turned back around.

"Stay here." Saying those words hurt than any other. Ed froze and Sam grimaced. It was the pain talking, it had to be.

He wouldn't admit how anxious he was when he first remembered what happened, not knowing if Ed was alive or dead and knowing it was his fault if he hadn't made it. He would never say aloud that talking to Ed right now meant that he could finally believe the words his teammates had told him. He didn't want Ed to leave just yet.

"You don't have to pretend that it doesn't hurt. You had a bullet in your chest for over an hour. You're allowed something to make the pain go away."

"I like being able to think," Sam tried to explain. From the look on Ed's face, he clearly wanted him to continue on. "It's hard to remember what happened on the meds. I don't like it."

A look of realization occurred on Ed's face. "That's what happened in recovery."

Sam's look grew quizzical. "I don't remember."

"The doctor's said you probably wouldn't." This time Sam urged Ed to continue with a look. "You were just anxious."

"What happened?" His pulse started to race a little when he thought of what might have happened when he first woke up. He'd been injured before, been put under before. He didn't always react well when he first came to, particularly after he had joined the military. He'd woken up in restraints once, the doctor saying he had been combatant.

"You just wanted to see me, then you fell asleep," Ed kept his tone neutral, but it was his words that soothed Sam. Nothing had happened. He tried to shift into a more comfortable position as his muscles relaxed.

Silence followed. He was partially grateful that he no longer had to concentrate on maintaining the front that everything was not nearly as bad as it was. Only partially because with that off his mind, there was nothing else to think about besides the fact that maybe denying the meds was a bad idea.

Ed had seated himself again after a little while. Sam could imagine the pressure standing put on his ribs. He knew that he wasn't about to be vertical anytime soon judging by how difficult it was to simply raise his hand. Ed didn't show any hint of pain though, the only thing suggesting his injuries was the visible coloring on his face, that and his reluctance for fast movement.

Sam could not do the same and after a while, he broke the silence. "What happened after I passed out?" It was something he could not ask of the Boss, only Ed who had been in there as well.

Ed gave him a scrutinizing glance before explaining the hostage situation as if he had been on duty, not stuck in the middle of it all. He explained the four subjects and how they reacted to Sarge's attempt to negotiate. He reminded Sam of the fact that Garret had done all he could to help once he decided that was what should be done. He told him about the forced entry with Spike and Lou present.

He ended it there. Sam knew there was more.

"Casualties?"

"One hostage. Two subjects."

It was quiet again because death required a moment of silence, whether it be from his own gun or just a victim caught in the crossfire. He was lucky to be alive. He was lucky Ed was alive.

Sam could feel the sinking feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with his bullet wound. His mind tried to come up with possible scenarios where the death toll would not have been so high. It was all what ifs at this point, if there was something he could have done to prevent the death of three people, if there was something he could have done to prevent getting shot so that he could help negotiate as well, if there was something he could have done.

These thoughts always came up after a hot call gone wrong. It was part of the job. He had been unable to do his job last night though. He didn't have the reassurance that usually played through his head after these thoughts, going over what he _had_ done. The one good thing that came to mind was that Ed had escaped mostly unscathed. He hadn't been shot like the subject had warned over the intercom.

That was his first solid confirmation that Ed had been taken hostage. He had been toward the back of the store looking at the detergent when he saw the manager rushing through his phone call. When the subject came into sight distracted by the other man, Sam had found an easy hiding place. The subject didn't look very hard, didn't even spare a glance in Sam's direction.

It was like any other hot call-just trying to find more intel before jumping in-until he heard the subject's voice daunting the fact that he had Ed up front, demanding that he joined them. At the time, Sam couldn't come up with an alternative that did not risk Ed's safety. That was why he ventured up the aisle, hands in the air ready to surrender.

Voices near the door to the room made Sam stop with that train of thought. He saw Ed look in the same direction as the Boss, Wordy, and Shelley entered the room.

"Jules called and said she was on her way. I'm going to head home," Sarge said, appraising the pair with his eyes trying to determine the nature of their conversation. Nothing seemed to set off any alarms because he walked across the room and patted Sam's hand before saying his goodbyes.

Sam didn't blame him for leaving. He must have been here all night. He wasn't at all surprised to see him leave. Wordy and Shelley had to leave as well only minutes after. The neighbor had called and they had to get back to their girls. Sam understood this as well.

"You need a ride?" Wordy asked, suggesting Ed did not have his car here.

"I'll figure something out."

The look that passed between the two friends was something Sam did not understand.

"Jules made it back to the SRU in three months. I'll give you two," Wordy used as his goodbye. Shelley rolled her eyes and followed him out the door.

"Ed?" Sam asked once they had all left. The man turned to back to him. "You think you can get a nurse?"

Ed looked alarmed. "What for?"

"I think I want the pain meds now."

Before Ed could leave the room to go call a nurse, Sam raised his voice to allow it to carry, taking the risk of another coughing fit. "And Ed?"

He moved back to the bed. Sam felt almost delirious with the pain and with the long night and morning. It was all taking a toll on him at once. He closed his eyes to fight for his coherency. Ed's footsteps stopped presumably next to the bed signaling Sam no longer had to raise his voice.

"I'm never going to the store with you again."

**I had to end it like that =) It goes perfectly in my head, let me know if it's less than stellar for you… Or if you do like it. Thanks for sticking with me on this story, more fics to come in the future.**


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